One of the things I have said over the past several years is the following.
It is better to share gratitude for others too early rather than too late.
But I would like to amend that a bit.
But too late is better than never.
This is why I still share stories about my dad. He passed away over a decade ago, but every time I share something about him, his legacy lives on in my words. My kids never met him, but I promise you that they will know him.
I share all of this as I reflect on the passing of my beloved dog, Cooper. She was the sweetest girl and had graced our lives for the past ten years. She peacefully passed away in my arms on Wednesday, November 13, 2024. This is the fourth dog that I have done that with, and it never gets easier, but I am honored to be there with them in their final moments, as they are often with me during my hardest moments.
Cooper entered my life a little over a month after the passing of my dog Shaq. Shaq, like Cooper, passed away from the effects of cancer. During that time, I had my souldog Odom with me. He was such a sweet boy, but he was lost without a dog companion.
Enter Cooper.
Cooper and Odom had a little feeling out to do before they realized they were together. But after that initial meeting, they were besties. I have never seen two dogs need each other more than those two needed one another. It was very sweet.
When Odom was sick from cancer, nearing the end of his life, he was often tired, and Cooper would be within a few feet of him to keep an eye on him to make sure he was okay.
And that was the thing with Cooper. She never needed to be right on top of you, but she always needed to be near you. Always.
Every night, I would invite her up to sleep with me in the bed (yes, I am that guy) and would be disappointed that she would sleep beside the bed instead of on it. I would fall asleep and then wake up with her at my feet. She wanted to be near you but on her terms.
She loved being around everyone, and her presence was everything. Her presence lit up the room because it was full of happiness. She epitomizes the Garth Stein quote from “The Art of Racing in the Rain.”
“That which is around me does not affect my mood; my mood affects that which is around me.”
And no matter what she was around, she made it better.
To the point of frustration.
She was known for “counter-surfing” and would steal food as much as possible. No matter how much trouble she would get in, she would smile her retriever smile at you and wag her tail. It was equal parts frustrating and equal parts adorable.
She was the bestest girl.
When Odom passed away, I was devastated. It wasn’t just that he passed, but he was so sick at the end that I feel a sense of guilt to this day about it. It was traumatizing to see him deteriorate so quickly. I never questioned whether I said goodbye to him too early, but I often struggle with the idea that I waited too long.
As I drove home from that experience, I worried about Cooper. How would she be without her best friend?
And the thing was, she kept wagging her tail and seemed fine.
It bothered me at first.
How could she be so close to Odom and not be more sad?
As time went on, I realized that she wasn’t telling me that she was okay; she was telling me that I would be okay.
One of my favorite quotes is, “Kindness is loaning someone your strength instead of reminding them of their weakness.” I had no strength, so she gave me hers. She was saying, “I will make sure you are okay.”
After Odom passed, the house felt empty. For the past 25 years, I have had two dogs in my home. Something was missing, but I wasn’t ready to get another dog.
Eventually, I felt it was time, and we welcomed Suggs into our home. He is a puppy, and Cooper is not, so they do not initially get along.
Not because of Cooper but because of Suggs.
I was worried Cooper wanted to get the attention now and wasn’t open to a new dog in the house. It got to the point where I had honestly thought I might have to return Suggs, so in a last-ditch attempt, I locked myself in a room with the two of them and decided that they could either fight or be friends. I did not come out of that room until a decision was made.
They have been friends ever since.
However, training a new puppy is hard, and some of Cooper’s bad habits have been transferred to Suggs. But Suggs could be corrected, and I let Cooper off the hook. She was older, and any scolding she had received was returned with a tail wag. Her ways were not only set, but I loved her for her bad behavior as much as when she was good.
And the thing with Cooper was that she never had an issue with another dog in the house. In fact, she was the opposite.
She loved attention, but for some reason, her tail would wag more when she heard the name of others, whether it be my kids, Odom, or Suggs. She loved the recognition others received. I know that now.
As I struggled with Odom being put to sleep perhaps too late, I am struggling with saying goodbye to Cooper being too early. What I realize is that you always struggle with it because you are balancing the selfishness of wanting them to stay forever while ensuring they feel the least amount of pain when the end is nearing.
She had cancer, and within a short time, she had decided that she no longer wanted to eat. For a dog that counter-surfed and stole food only a few short days earlier, we knew something was wrong. How much I would have loved to watch her try and steal food from me at that moment.
We tried everything to get her to eat again, but it wasn’t that she couldn’t; you knew she didn’t want to. She needed to say goodbye.
Now I realize that she was just as devastated about Odom’s passing as I was, but she knew that if I struggled with having only one dog, zero dogs would be impossible.
Her job was to make sure I was okay and help welcome a new dog into our lives. When things were good, she could run in the field with her best friend, Odom, again. That is the only solace I have in this whole thing. Odom and Cooper were the old couple in the Notebook. They were meant for each other, and it seemed impossible for them to be apart.
I will miss her need for space and love, which seemed to be mixed simultaneously. She never wanted to snuggle with you unless she wanted to. And then you embraced that snuggle as best as you could.
You would rub her belly or ears for as long as possible, stop when you thought you couldn’t anymore, and only to be pawed by Cooper for a little bit more. She knew you had more, so you would give her more.
Cooper was the sweetest puppy, but I will always remember her as an old, white-haired dog who was like a child to me but a mother to everyone else. When the kids would leave, she would wait at the door until they got home. She would position her rear against the door so there were zero seconds between when they got home and when she would know. She lived to be in the presence of others by being present for others.
With my wife, three kids and one dog in the house, with Cooper gone, it feels a bit empty.
But I know she is running with Odom, and they are seeing my dogs, Shaq and Kobe, waiting for me one day.
Goodbye, my sweet girl, Coopie.
You are so loved because you loved us so much.
@georgecourosGoodbye sweet Coopie
