It was a rainy day in early January 1995. El Nino was upon us that winter and this day was drizzly, cold and dark. I was having lunch at the McDonald’s on Valley View in Cypress between appointments. I grabbed The Sun to read while I ate. Flipping through the pages, I saw a picture of a dog’s face staring at me, and it made me smile. The caption said “Geoff” and there was a blurb that Geoff was the dog of the week at the Seal Beach Animal Shelter. Finishing my lunch, I tossed the paper into my open briefcase on my passenger seat and went to drop off some paperwork at my next appointment in Huntington Beach. Getting back in my Montero, I saw Geoff looking at me. What the heck, I thought, the shelter is between where I am and home.
At the shelter I showed the lady at the desk the picture and asked if I could see Geoff. She led me back to the pens and there was a big dog, some type of odd mix, a bit reddish and wagging its tail at me. I started to bend down and the lady said, “This is Geoff,” pointing to the pen next to where I was now squatting. I moved over one cage and this impossibly long tongue mottled pink and black reached through the fencing of the pen and tried to lick me. I held up my hand and Geoff licked me and wagged his tail, his ears perky. He was a motley mix of Shepherd, Doberman, Lab and Chow; we bonded immediately.
Leslie had never had a dog; her family had a few cats growing up. My family had had two dogs I grew up with: Bridget, who was in the Smith family before I arrived, and Bridey, who my Mom got within weeks of Bridget passing away and who was with me until I left home for college. Both dogs were Kerry Blue Terriers and great dogs. Leslie knew I wanted a dog. In January 1995, we had been married just four months and had just shared our first Christmas together. I came home from the shelter and asked Leslie, “If we had a dog what would you name it?”
She went through a couple of names and then said, “Cooper, I would name a dog Cooper after Cooperstown.” We had passed through Cooperstown for a few nights on our honeymoon in September. “Perfect! Do you want to go meet him?” I told her about Geoff, Cooper, the dog in Seal Beach and she said we could get a dog if I promised to take down the Christmas tree and lights. I did and we did, get the dog. Her father had given us a $50 bill for Christmas and we still had it, that bill was given to the shelter to pay for Cooper. We had gone to the store and purchased a collar and leash, and before letting him out of his pen we snapped them on him. Then we opened the back of my Montero and he jumped right in. From that day forward Cooper would go a bit crazy when we took off his collar and loved car rides; both of those meant that we belonged to him.
It took a while for Leslie, who had and still has a home based business, to get used to her co-worker. She would be on a call and he would bark at a cat walking by, or chew up her knitting, or somehow do what young dogs do. But he would also jump into bed and snuggle with her after he and I took our morning walk, and on cold nights would always find the right spot on her side of the bed to keep her warm. Cooper would follow her around the house and Leslie enjoyed having her co-worker so she would not be alone.
In 1999 we had Blaire, and Cooper would jump up on the futon couch and I would stare at the tableau of my wife nursing my daughter while patting our dog with his head in her lap. When she got bigger, Blaire became part of the routine Cooper and I had and, bundled up, she would sit in her stroller while we walked the neighborhood saying hi to neighbors. Soon we had another child and Cooper was thrilled at more dropped Cheerios and Goldfish, snack plates left on the coffee table and little hands that held little cookies at just the right height. Kids and dogs go together like… well, like kids and dogs.
As the kids got older they learned that Cooper was able to talk, albeit through Daddy, and would have conversations with him. They learned that Cooper was always happy and positive and no matter what would greet us as we walked through the door with love and joy at our return. They learned that every single morning while we were making breakfast Cooper would trot into the kitchen. He was absolutely convinced that this was the day he was going to get that long desired chocolate-cheeseburger omelet; his favorite foods combined for a spectacular breakfast! Alas it was not to be, but he was thrilled to get his cookie and whatever dropped on the floor. Always be optimistic, but be happy with what you get.
TLC is what I put on notes in the girls’ lunchboxes. They know it means “Think Like Cooper.” Be positive that you will get what you desire; but be happy if you do not because there is always the next time, the next day. Be happy for what you do get, while it may not be a chocolate-cheeseburger omelet, something is better than nothing. Be happy to see your family and friends and let them know you are happy to see them and be with them. From time to time throughout the day, push your face into their lap or against their hands to let them know it is okay to get a pat or a hug, it makes everyone feel better. Most of all, love unconditionally. TLC, be optimistic, make others happy when you can, love; those are great lessons.
Tomorrow morning, for the first morning in almost fourteen years, I will not hear the clack-clack-clack of nails padding into the kitchen while I drink my first cup of coffee. I will not feel the cold nose and soft fur of Cooper’s face as he pushes it on my lap for some pats and ear rubs before I get up and get him his morning cookie. My girls will not eat breakfast with him “asking” for toast crusts or leftover peanut butter and jelly waffles.
We said good-bye to Cooper today. Life caught up to a dog with a big heart and a lot of love after over fourteen years of dispensing it daily to a family that really wanted it and needed it. The girls know that Cooper lives forever in our hearts — that does not make the ache or the hurt go away but it is another lesson we learned from Cooper — he may not live with us anymore but he will always be with us. Before Leslie took him to the vet, his last car ride, we sat on the floor as he lay there looking at us and we thanked him for his love, thanked him for his companionship and thanked him for what he has taught us.
His final lesson was teaching my daughters what it means to lose a member of the family, that death is not just someone else but also those we love dearest and daily. That to feel the sadness we feel and the sorrow at losing our beloved Cooper is a wonderful feeling because it means we love him so — how much worse to feel nothing at his passing. Our sadness represents years of love and joy and we need to embrace it and feel it to know what it means. We will try to teach this to our girls, but it will take time and always Cooper will be in our hearts to help with the lessons; in life we love so that we hurt when death comes to those we love.
Cooper will always be our first dog, maybe our best, but not our last. In the meantime, TLC, think like Cooper. Goodbye dear friend, we love you.
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