The Best Dog Ever

We got the dog because Kerry couldn't say no to a rescue. We got a poodle because Cindy had declared "The next dog will not shed!" We got a Standard Poodle because I don't do little, yippy dogs, and because Griffin would have been happy with any dog. Despite all those conditions, we some how wound up with the best dog ever, and I will forever be grateful for having him in our lives.

The Whitson's and the Turner's made a parenting deal ... we would hold the line on getting a family dog, and we told Griffin "When Haley gets a dog, we'll get a dog" and the Whitson's told Haley the same thing about Griffin. Kerry was the weak link, though to be honest, I would have cracked sooner or later. Both families had had older dogs that had to be put down when the kids were very young and we knew how much time, energy, money and emotional investment dog ownership required.

Our dogs were Pearl and Cosmo. They were Dalmatians. Pearl was the hard, smart, protective one

and she was my dog. Cosmo was the goofy, sweet, cuddly liver spotted one, one of Pearl's puppies, who loved Cindy and couldn't get enough of her attention. When Pearl got old and very sick, we had to put her down. We brought her blanket home for Cosmo and a few months later he just gave up and we had to put him down, too. He just quit eating or drinking and refused to get up. He had never spent a day without his mother until then, and I think he died of a broken heart.

 Anyway, somehow Griffin learned that Kerry and Haley had come home with a rescue dog, Isabelle, and excitedly asked "When are we getting a dog?!?! Haley got a dog!" and I went in search of a Standard Poodle. We found one in Oklahoma. He had been born in a barn, was four months old and the runt of the litter. The breeder was anxious to get rid of him, so we drove to Sherman, meeting her halfway, paid her some cash, put the super fluffy puppy in the back of our SUV and headed home.

On the way home, somewhere around McKinney, he threw up. On the carpet. The first lesson in dog ownership was a failure. I ended up cleaning it up. Neither Griffin or Haley, who went on the puppy excursion with us, was willing to use paper towels to clean the barfed up kibble. He was cute and "Parti-colored," mostly white with black/grey/blue splotches. We debated names all the way home and once home he was promptly named Cooper, after the MINI Cooper parked in the garage.

Of course, the plan was for him to be Griffin's dog, but Cooper was having none of that. The first night we attempted to put him to sleep in his kennel in Griffin's bedroom. He howled and cried and barked for 2 hours until I finally relented and brought his kennel down to our bedroom. I would like to think that he had identified me as the alpha male in his new pack and just wanted to make that bond. In reality, he picked me out as the person most likely to cater to his every need and give him everything he wants. He was smart like that.

We bonded pretty quickly. I was working from home, or as I prefer, "living at work," and so we got to

spend a lot of days together. It wasn't long before I could say "let's go to work" or "time to clock in" and he would sprint up the stairs, waiting for his pre-work treat. He'd spend the day at his security post on the upstairs landing where he could surveil both the front and back yards, dutifully barking when there were potential intruders at the gate like the UPS guy and the lawn mowing crew. If he needed to go out, he didn't whine or scratch, he'd come put his head in my lap and give me puppy eyes. In the middle of the night that involved him putting his head on the bed and staring at me until I woke up.

He liked to chew plastic bottles, so we taught him to take them to the recycle can when he was done, for a treat of course. He liked to sneak drinks of coffee from any unattended cups, and preferred black coffee to anything with cream or sugar. He didn't like to swim at all, but he loved to lounge in the shallow water of the pool's sun ledge. He had a long, lanky, looping sort of gait when running, reminiscent of Tigger's bounce, not especially fast, but then he was never in much of hurry. He was a calm dog, excited to greet visitors, but never jumped or got too nosey. We'd have a house full of people and he would curl up on the rug or a cool spot on the tile and just keep an eye on things. When the kids got too rowdy, he'd go find a quiet place. He never demanded a lot of petting, usually content to just be with the family, rather than in someone's lap.

When he was a few years old we had a very scary episode where he refused to eat or drink, lost a

bunch of weight and energy and strength. For a few days the vet was at a loss to diagnose the issue, but then determined that he had Addison's disease, a hormone disease that affects Poodles and Chows and a few other breeds especially. He's been on daily meds to control it since then and we generally managed it well. Since the move to Sugar Land he's been doing great. He put on some weight, which was always an issue, and we've been getting a mile walk in nearly every day. He was a picky eater, but I take a lot of responsibility for that. He never over-ate or scarfed food like some dogs, so I indulged him with whatever he liked.

I just turned my chair, to go get a smidge more bourbon, and he wasn't there, in any of his customary, proximal spots. I miss him already.

Today I learned that he had a tumor in his heart that was effectively untreatable. He was miserable. His heart was pounding all day and his breathing was labored. I elected to put him down. It wasn't a hard decision. He was the best dog ever, and I could not bear to see him suffer through treatments and procedures when I knew he would be perfectly content to put his head in my lap and go to sleep with me holding him.

Last October/November, when Cindy got so miserable that she could only sleep in the recliner, Cooper would sleep in the corner of the living room, where he could keep an eye on both of us. We had gotten past his habit of wanting to go out in the middle of the night, but he would come put his head on the bed and wake me up if Cindy was restless or if she told him to "get Dad." In late February, early March, when Cindy was pretty much home full time, he stopped barking at the doorbell or when strangers came up the sidewalk. He did it a few times and it always startled Cindy, who was either sleeping or zoned out watching TV, and she'd yell "Cooper! Stop!" He was a smart dog, and learned quickly not to scare her. Instead he would run to me, anxiously wagging his tail and looking at the door.

Later in March, when the hospice workers came, he would hover next to me, waiting for clues on

how to behave. If, for some reason I had to leave to run an errand, leaving Cindy home alone, he changed his routine. Instead of going to his bed and meeting me at the back door when he heard the garage door go up, he would sleep either behind Cindy's recliner or on the corner of the rug in front of her, and he would wait for me to enter and check on them, instead of greeting me at the door. The full time hospice folks were only here for a couple of nights. When that began, Cooper stayed in bed, dragging his cushions into the very corner of the bedroom, and only coming out when coaxed.

For about a month after Cindy died, Cooper refused to leave my side. If I was in a room, he was there with me. The master bathroom had always been off limits to Cooper, and he respected that everywhere we lived. The morning after Cindy died I stepped out of the shower to find Cooper in the middle of the master bathroom floor, waiting for me to step out. I scolded him and he left, but he laid down with his butt in the hallway and his nose in the doorway.

For the past three months he's kept me company, and kept me sane. He was the recipient of too many one sided conversations. He listened to my disjointed, lost and broken, spoken prayers. He heard me reading the bible out loud, because that's something you can do when it's just you and the dog. And he let me hold and pet him when listening to those sad break up songs that take on a whole new meaning when your lover is truly, truly gone. He never complained. He never asked for anything other than my attention. He was my faithful companion on morning walks and a steady worker, who never missed a day, napping in the corner under the ceiling fan or in the warm sliver of sun by the front windows.

I did my best to give that sorry, spoiled rotten poodle a good and happy life. He more than lived up to his end of the bargain. He was, and always will be, the best dog ever.