Cooper: A Tribute to Luxury Items

I sat across from him in an anonymous neighborhood at a table in a bistro that shall remain nameless. We had been on a few dates and he evidently felt that things were serious enough to now educate me on the finer points of fiscal conservatism. My mind quickly retreated to a happy place, sea otters, endangered snow leopards, and penguins. Despite my best intentions to actively engage, a slow and familiar process of a Planet Earth blackout was beginning. As I resisted this familiar escape, praying for the moment when he would leave the monetary topic and jump to something at least mildly more entertaining, like the weather or his recent trip to the dentist, I heard a word that piqued my interest … “Dogs” … What? What is this you speak of? Dogs? Ah, dogs, the sweet four-legged angels hailing from the most premium realms of heaven. I came back into the conversation just as he was proving in a bullet point lecture format how dogs were, in fact, luxury items and as such, were a ridiculous thing for the average American to own.

So many things were going wretchedly wrong in that moment. It would seem to the innocent bystander (me) that he believed that talk of financial security was somehow a romance-inducing, date appropriate subject  … it has quite an opposite effect on me … ranking the highest among topics for making me feel impossibly claustrophobic and wanting to rip my hair out, follicle by artificially blond follicle. He also seemed to have something against dogs, one of my favorite things in life, and evidently lacked a soul, but that, unfortunately, like most crucial factors, took me longer to figure out.

Yesterday, as I sat in the Fountain Veterinary Clinic, in Bellingham, Washington, looking in the eyes of my sweet Cooper, who was about to leave Earth to head home from whence he came (the most premium realms of heaven), I thought back on that conversation and laughed.

If there is one thing I’m confident of in this life, it’s that no one … ever … would describe my Coop as a luxury item.

The summer of 1995 was most poignantly described by Charles Dickens in his novel, A Tale of Two Cities …  indeed, “it was the best of times and the worst of times.” The worst of times in that my Jesse, my older sister, had just recently died, I was an awkwardly lanky thirteen-year-old with teeth far too large for my face (no exaggeration, they would later be cut down by my orthodontist to what he deemed a “rational” size), hair that never fell right, and having generally exited real life the year before, lived in a constant state of terror for the day I would once again have to return to middle school (Take me now, Lord) and a social order I had left happily in the dust when my world stopped. However, it was the best of times, in that one beautiful day of that summer, Grandpa George would take pity on me, packing me into the car, telling me that it was about time I get a puppy.  Hallelujah.

Ah Narnia. I sat among a pile of newly weaned Lhasa Apso puppies, hardly the size of guinea pigs, fluffy, squirmy, playful and perfect. This was truly heaven. I was giggling uncontrollably and attempting to figure out how I would ever choose just one, when one of those angelic puppies, black, brown, and white, crawled into my lap, up my shirt, and put his tiny paws one either side of my neck, embracing me as best he could. Game was over. I was head-over-heels in love.

We took him back to the lake house dressed in a red bandana and matching leash, the first of many outfits … he became “Cooper” and the new sixth member of the Schuette clan later that day. Cooper and I had each other, and for the first time, someone needed me. He followed me blindly and depended on me to give him a lift across surfaces he disliked walking across himself, including, but not limited to grass, moss, gravel, wet sand, dry sand, tile, linoleum, concrete, carpet, and hardwood. The focus on my own grief dissipated in a desire to best take care of this new little soul that I so adored.

Now, not to send a false message, please understand that the Schuette’s have always been an animal happy people. There was State-Puff Marshmallow, the kitten that we had saved from a disturbed, dumpster-diving child neighbor, Kenya and Poppy, rabbits that belonged to Jesse and I …  Kenya (Jesse’s) mild-mannered and perfect, Poppy (mine) depressed, belligerent, and aggressive, who habitually attempted to sink her pointed, bunny teeth into my carotid artery every time I freed her from her pen  … I don’t think I’m being dramatic when I say that I honestly believe that rabbit was trying to finish me off. Later, Alley, the runaway Welsh Corgi joined the family. When she was home, she was attempting to herd us, by nipping at our heels, (especially Taylor, he looked the most sheep like) and when our backs were turned she was constantly escaping through minor gaps in our picket fence or through a lazily closed front door. After the 13th time my mom was forced to bail her out of doggy jail in one month, we accepted an offer for her to move to a greener pastures (literally) better suited to her athletic tastes. There was Opie, the opossum, the three blind baby squirrels, and “Taffy” the demon-possessed hamster, but those are lengthy stories better saved for another time. Finally, there was Bender, an overrated, consistently matted, black, reject Himalayan a neighbor had decided was better than a sympathy card. (Epic Fail)

So, while we had had, in our possession, other animals, Cooper was new territory for us; a pet, unlikely to run away, have rabies, completely ignore us, or go maniacally bunny suicide on us. Novel.

Now, not to put an unattainable doggie halo over my new canine’s head, in fact, while I realize I’m risking sounding extremely “Marley and Me,” I might go as far as to describe Cooper as “the worst dog ever,” but in quite an opposite fashion from the standard most “worst dogs” adhere to. He didn’t run for the door when you opened it, he didn’t jump on people, chase cats, or lick … anything. He couldn’t hurdle high enough to sleep on the furniture or sniff our guest’s unassuming crotches, rather than eating everything, he was extremely picky, driving my mom at some points to cook him personalized lamb dinners. He was less dog and more lazy, choosy teenage boy, happy to lay about, watching reality television while munching on buttery, homemade (not microwave) popcorn.

That first summer, we learned out that Cooper was terrified of fireworks and loud noises… in addition he hated the rain, other dogs, the snow, children, the outdoors, strangers, and moving … any and all distances. If you were to throw a ball in his general direction, it was much more likely to hit Coop in the face leaving him with a concussion that was worthy of a several hundred dollar veterinary bill rather than the standard chasing said ball, retrieving it, and engaging in your delightful and completely asinine game. I used to flatter myself that my incredible training skills and Cooper’s divine intellect taught him to understand “sit” and “lay down”. I realize now, however, that his eagerness to follow these commands were born solely out of a desire to no longer be upright, rather than an aspiration to please me by following direction.

A few years later we learned that Cooper had bad ears due to probable inbreeding, a cardiac condition, dental issues, and was most likely allergic to humans … a circumstance that gave him horrible skin allergies, requiring frequent baths and regular trips to the groomer. On one said visit, we were charged an extra thirty dollars because of his “aggressive” nature. Had the groomer known that Cooper’s teeth would have fallen out had he followed through with the assumed crime, mayhap she would have been less likely to see our sweet ten-pound pup as such a threat, but that is neither here nor there.

For all that Cooper wasn’t, mostly dog, he was everything stable and rational in a life that usually swayed toward the opposite. He experienced and somehow survived the excessive squeezing and forced sleepovers of middle school. Throughout my high school career, he bit every single one of my friends, my siblings, my cousins, and other strangers, completely unconcerned for anyone’s opinon or affection, but mine. And for reasons I still can’t imagine, our little Ewok was consistently returned to us after we attempted to give him away to charity or Young Lifer’s playing “Bigger or Better”. While away at college, I always had Cooper to come home to. No matter how catastrophic the date, how devastating the exam, or how impossible the trial; Cooper was there, ready to listen. Regardless of how far I wandered, who else I devoted myself to, or how long I chose to stray from the comforts of my parents cottage, Cooper was a constant presence, waiting for my return, his attitude toward me steadfast and unrelenting. He loved me.

Last Monday was a day like any other, as I walked up to the house, Cooper rose from his pillowed palace, cozy by the fireplace, and wagging his tail, struggled to strut over and meet me at the door. Despite being mostly blind, deaf, dealing with chronic heart failure, and suffering from daily seizures, he still knew my step and was unwilling to give up tradition. Seeing him exhausted from the small feat, and  so clearly with little life left, I collapsed to the floor in tears and he, taking my cue, shrunk into my lap and fell asleep.

The next morning I sat in Fountain Veterinary Clinic, and looking into Cooper’s sweet tired eyes, held him in my lap and kissed his head in a peaceful farewell as he left my world.  It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve said goodbye to Cooper, I’ve been giving him “just in case” kisses for the last three years, but it would be the last. In that tear-filled moment, I realized that throughout our years together, despite the mixed and negative messages I had received courtesy of personal doubts, a sometimes harsh world, and fiscally conservative boyfriends, solid proof of what was good and true, that I was worthy of love and capable of loving back, had been greeting me at the front door, tail wagging, all along.  That fact alone made my dog perhaps the greatest and truest luxury item I will ever be blessed to know. And for that, my sweet Coop, I am forever grateful.

Rest Peacefully.

L

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