Remembering Cooper Dog

My most treasured friend decided to die yesterday

My great friend and companion, Coop Dog hasn’t been well for a long time now. His heart was no longer up to the task of supporting his little body. But, with the help of our veterinarian, and the miracle of modern pharmaceuticals, we were able to prolong the inevitable.

I used to joke with Cooper that he was probably taking more pills each day than President Biden. Luckily, for all involved, unlike most dogs, Coop didn’t object to taking pills and would gobble them right down.

He couldn’t jump through the air as he had done for most of his life, and his toys managed to start keeping their stuffing, but despite slowing down and needing so many pills, he remained happy. Happy to see us, be with us, and live his life.

That ended yesterday morning when he decided that he was going to let himself die. That he would no longer eat or drink.

He refused water, he refused his pills, and he refused his baked chicken.

After a few hours I tried to bribe him with his favorite food of all, pepperoni and sausage pizza. He refused it. Later I tried roast beef. He actually took some in his mouth, but then spit it out.

Cooper had decided that his life was at an end.

A portrait of Cooper, painted in younger, healthier times.

And throughout his fifteen years of life, Cooper never admitted that there was any higher authority than himself on the face of this earth.

Realizing that the end had come we sat on the floor with him, through the afternoon. scratching him and peering deeply into his soulful and loving eyes. We didn’t hug him or pick him up and snuggle him, for despite his small size, Cooper always hated being picked up and held. He always wanted to sit beside the people he loved, never on them.

By early evening I, we, had lost our most precious companion. Our greatest friend.

Tears have been our constant companion since.

Dogs shower us with love, and I believe that they are put here on earth to teach us. To teach us about love, and loyalty, and protection, and life, and death. This last lesson is the hardest.

But Cooper showered people with love. Not all people, not indiscriminately. Somehow in his mind he judged people. He loved most, but not all. And those he judged unworthy of his love he didn’t try to trick. He let them know, in no uncertain terms, that he didn’t like them. In time we came to trust his instinct. We could never know why he didn’t approve of someone, but we maintained distance from those he so judged.

Dogs, I think, some at least, have a way of knowing things we can not know.

But the person who Cooper most loved, throughout the world was Melinda. His Nona. It was the funniest thing, he never wanted her to be out of his sight. She didn’t have to play with him, and he didn’t need to be held by her (as I mentioned, he hated to be held) but he needed to be able to see her. He spent his days, following her from room to room. Objecting loudly to any closed door. Waiting with his nose pressed to the back door of our house whenever she was away. Fully closing the bathroom door might have been nice for the people, but for Cooper that was an almost unforgivable sin.

Had the occasion ever required, I always knew, without any doubt, that Coop Dog would have stood in the breach with me. He took his job as protector of the family extremely seriously. Even once to his own detriment. A large dog appeared in our yard one day, years ago, while Melinda was leading Cooper out to the car. Somehow Cooper managed to slip out of his collar and attacked a dog that probably weighed five or six times what he did. The battle was brief, and thankfully Melinda managed to pull the large dog’s fangs from Cooper’s neck. That was the first time our veterinarian saved Coop’s life.

That story reminds me that in his younger days, riding in the car, with his head out the window, ears flopping in the wind was Coop Dog’s favorite thing. Until it wasn’t. It took a lot of energy and balance for him to keep his head out of the window, considering his small size, and eventually he couldn’t do it anymore, so he decided that he wasn’t interested in car rides anymore. He was like that as he aged, moving from favorite thing to favorite thing.

A most excellent dog. I held his head in my hands and looked deeply into his eyes as he died. I feel as if in those minutes, hours really, our souls truly connected for one final time.

Melinda had told him, a short time before those moments that it was OK for him to leave us. That we would be OK without him. That we knew that he needed to go.

Today it is quiet here, and profoundly sad in our home. This is the first time since I was a really young kid that I’m without a dog. It’s the same for Melinda.

Sparky, the dog of my childhood. Peke and Kira. Red Dog. And now Cooper. My treasured companions, their souls gone from this earth. Gone from my life.

Yet each of them gave me so much. They taught me about love, and life. Loyalty and honor. Death.

This is my tribute to Cooper. To my closest friend and constant companion. I love you buddy. I’m deeply sad that you have left me, but I understand your decision, and I trust that your soul is safe.