RIP Cooper the three-legged wonder dog

I started to write this blog post shortly after Cooper died. He's been gone two months today. I wrote most of this a few days after he passed, but I wasn't able to think clearly and I kept looking at it and trying again. Editing and updating. I think it's actually better than I thought it was, at that time. 

Here we are 60 days after Cooper left us, and still sometimes shocked that he's not sitting right there at my feet, or on the couch, or waiting in the hallway, or sitting by the door waiting to go for his R.I.D.E. I miss him terribly. I still have a dog bed next to the bed ready and waiting for him. No one else sleeps on it. I imagine in the middle of the night that he's still there, that I have to step over him if I get up to use the bathroom. But he's not there. But I say "hi" to him every night, nevertheless. It's nice to put my feet down on that dog bed, instead of the hard floor, and it's nice to think of him when I do.

This is what I started to write back in April, right after he died:

For his entire 12 years, such a short lifespan, people asked me one question... and I couldn't answer it, and still can't. "How did Cooper lose his leg?" It's a question that has haunted me ever since they day I met him, when he still HAD four legs, one badly broken and needing amputation.

I even have copies of his veterinary records from before the surgery. I have x-rays of his busted leg. I have photos and video of him dragging his useless leg around, yet still smiling and happily hopping around as he played with his twin brother, Charlie Brown, who sits nearby as I write this.

One thing I don't know is the story of how Cooper broke his leg. I always speculated that it was an accident. I always stuck up for his original owners, who re-named him "Fluff" because they had another dog named "Peanut Butter" (anyone who grew up in New England knows about peanut butter and "Fluff" sandwiches, which are not a thing anywhere else, or so I'm told. Fluff is the brand-name of a marshmallow spread that was a big hit as a partner to peanut butter on bread when we were kids. An alternative to jelly or jam.).

When Fluff was returned to his foster home with a broken leg, his name was quickly returned to its original: Cooper -- named for mini-Cooper, the car, and because he was the runt of the litter.

Was that all it was? Was he the runt, and therefore his bones were more fragile? And he just broke a leg incidentally and it wasn't a big deal? I suppose I'll never know, and it will remain a mystery.

But in all those years, I'll tell you some things about this dog, this amazing three-legged dog. First of all, nothing bothered Cooper. You could do anything to this dog (except pick him up!) and he didn't mind. Cut his nails? Sure. Bath? Meh, but ok, go ahead. Brush, groom, pet, cuddle. Touch his ears, teeth, nose, feet. He didn't mind. Unlike ALL my other dogs who wouldn't let you do any of those things. Cooper was the most easy-going dog. He was, just simply, a dog.

He also was Hector reincarnated. I truly believe this, and now I've just lost about half of my readers! But seriously, Cooper and Hector had so many personality traits that were not just similar but uncannily identical, there is no doubt in my mind that Hector, whose very short life was only nine years, came back to me as Cooper. In order to come back, he had to be only three-quarters of a dog, physically anyway. But both Hector and Cooper's hearts were so big, I think they needed an extended life on Earth, and this was God's only way of doing it... Hector had nine years (he died four days before his tenth birthday, so let's say ten years); and Cooper had twelve. That's twenty-two years! I had the love of this amazing soul, the HectorCooper soul, for twenty-two wonderful years! How lucky am I? Both dogs met a similar set of circumstances in death, dying extremely quickly and unexpectedly at home, with no time for us humans to even take action to save them. 

Hector

Cooper

People tell me all the time that Cooper was lucky to have found me. Someone once told me that when they die, they want to come back as one of my pets! LOL I am flattered, but really, I'm the lucky one to have found him, and all my other pets. They have defined me. I'm the dog lady. I'm the crazy cat lady. It's in my DNA. It's me. I am the lucky one.

I adopted Cooper when he was 7 months old, after he had broken his leg at 5 months, and (I was told) his original adoptive family could not afford medical treatment so he was kept confined with no exercise mainly in a crate for two months. When this went on long enough, he was eventually returned to the rescue agency (which, by the way, is what an adopter is supposed to do if they can't keep a pet -- return it to the rescue agency or shelter from whence it came). 

I digress.

The rescue had put out word that Cooper had been returned to his foster home and would any of us who had adopted from the same litter (I had adopted Charlie Brown when the litter mates were 10 weeks old) want a brother? I immediately started sending out emails asking anyone and everyone I could think of if they wanted to adopt Charlie's brother, Cooper. You wouldn't believe how many people replied to me, "Well, YOU should adopt him." or, "He's YOURS, can't you see that?" 

You guessed it. I adopted him. 

I met Cooper when he still had four legs. I brought Charlie Brown back to the foster home for an afternoon, and the two played and romped around together, despite Cooper dragging his leg around. The two of them had been the last two puppies adopted from the litter, and so it was a wonderful and happy reunion for them. I could tell right away that they needed each other. That they had missed each other a lot those last few months. It was great seeing them together. I made the decision then and there to adopt Cooper. The same way I had made the decision, in the same place, to adopt Charlie a few months earlier.

The day I met Cooper^

But first, Cooper had to have the surgery, and he was owned by the rescue agency, so while I did contribute financially to his medical care, I had no say in what would happen to him medically or otherwise. The agency decided (along with several veterinarians) that amputation was the best solution. The break was in such a position that, the only surgical solution would be experimental. It had never been done before, and as one vet succinctly put it: "I would not put my OWN dog through experimental surgery. It may not work, and then we'd have to amputate anyway!"

So, in the summer of 2012, Cooper's right front leg was removed. As his tentative adopter (I had already signed the papers) I was kept advised of every step of his surgery and recovery. I was even allowed to look at video-cam footage of him at the vet's office during recovery in his crate. He stayed overnight one night, maybe two. Then he was sent home to his foster parents for full recovery. 

His first night back at their home, he summarily and unceremoniously jumped up onto the human bed! He wasn't supposed to even be able to attempt this, nor was he allowed to, but if you knew Cooper (I didn't then) he would not be deterred. And from that moment, until the minute he died three weeks ago, he was able to jump up onto a human bed and would not take no for an answer.

Hobie, Charlie & Cooper on Cooper's first day at our home

After Cooper had the stitches out, he was able to come home to my place where I had five other animals: Three cats Cali, Tux and Newman; and two dogs, Hobie and Charlie Brown. Cooper arrived at the house one summer afternoon and literally was like the glue that held the household together. He made everything click into place. He especially fell head over heels in love with Hobie, a friendship that would only last a few years as Hobie died at age 15 in 2015.

Cooper & Hobie

    

But over the years we did have together with the three dogs, Cooper, Charlie and Hobie, we had some great trips to Cape Cod as a pack, we had lots of cuddles and fun at home, and it was just a pure joy to have all three of them -- and my three cats -- during that brief time. It was such a larger-than-life timeframe that I sometimes forget it was only three years that the three of them were together. It seems so much longer in my memory, because it was the most important feature of my life at the time.

Charlie and Cooper were my only two dogs for a while after Hobie passed away, until Petey joined our pack in 2017. Cooper and Petey became best friends, in much the same way as Cooper and Hobie were. Petey also has some of the same traits as Hobie, and again I often wonder if he's Hobie come back to me. 

Cooper & Hobie

Cooper & Petey

The three dogs and three cats moved to South Carolina with me in 2018, and then moved AGAIN to a different town in SC when I got married in 2020 during Covid. Later that year, I lost my job of 30+ years, and sold my first SC house which was a very difficult decision. Through it all, those three dogs and cats were there with me as anchors to my excited but upended life. But one-by-one, three of them left us, and now we have just two dogs and one cat.

Cooper goin' for a R.I.D.E.

Cali died in 2021. Newman died last year. Cooper died three weeks ago. I am still reeling from his absence. Cooper was a huge presence in our house. His life ended abruptly and with no clues that he was even close to dying. Sure, he was slowing down, but he was 12 years old and handicapped, so that wasn't a sure sign of impending death. 

Cooper & Newman

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Cooper & Cali

Sometimes, however, I think it's a blessing that he went so fast. He already had a hard life, hopping around on one front leg all the time. He made more than the best of it. He was an inspiration. He never, ever wanted help and I think checking out so quickly was connected to his desire to do things his way with no assistance. He would refuse to be picked up, and like I said he could jump up onto a bed, or furniture, or into and out of the car better than his twin brother who has all four legs! He was just a remarkable creature, and everyone loved and adored Cooper.

Twinz! Cooper & Charlie Brown

Cooper was like "the drunk uncle" who lives with you. He was loud, and obnoxious. He snored (we thought it was Charlie doing all the snoring, but come to find out, it was Cooper). The house is SO quiet now. You can hear a pin drop at night, whereas just his mere presence in the home took up space and energy like nothing I've ever seen in my life. Cooper would bark at the TV whenever an animal or a child appeared on screen. Even if it was a cartoon. Commercials were particularly bark-producing because of the fast moving snippets of video that seemed to dash across the screen. We believe he saw the TV screen as a big window and maybe he thought all of that was happening outside our house! Who knows, all I know is he was LOUD, and it was impossible to watch any shows that included dogs, cats, horses, bears or even sharks. And now that the drunk uncle is gone, we miss him. Sure, he was loud and obnoxious and un-well, but he was our drunk uncle, and he made us laugh and now he has made us cry.

I haven't gotten rid of any of Cooper's belongings yet and probably won't. Except for one. His favorite bed. I had this thing for YEARS. I think it went to three houses with me, definitely two. I had tried to wash it in the machine so many times it was just a plush bag filled with lumps. But he loved that damn bed. Maybe because he also was a plush bag filled with lumps! I couldn't flatten out that bed, and I could barely keep it clean, but he loved it. He slept on it every night, right by my side on the floor next to the bed. I couldn't imagine either of the other dogs would want to sleep on it, so I decided to bring it to the dump the next time I went. I placed it outside on the front porch for about a week, simply because we had no plans to go to the dump for that long. Cooper had died elsewhere in the house, so the bed had nothing to do with his death, it was just old and lumpy and stupid to keep. Every time we went for our daily walk after I put that bed on the porch, Charlie would sniff it for a few minutes, halting on his way up or down the steps to grab the scent of his brother. The day I brought it to the dump, I went by myself. Thankfully, hardly anyone was there, as I walked to the Bulk Waste receptacle to toss it in, I hugged the stinky fur-covered bed to my heart and started to cry. I felt stupid, but so what? I whispered goodbye to Cooper and threw the bed over the top of the high dumpster, and returned to my car. I sobbed the whole way home. In my car, that Cooper loved to ride in.

Cooper's rides in my Subaru Forester were his favorite thing. I've had that car ever since Hobie and Hector, so all five of my most recent dogs have "lived" in that car with me. We had so many adventures. During Covid, one thing I did was take Cooper for long rides, just the two of us. Before I met my husband, the three dogs, Cooper, Petey and Charlie and I would hop in the car on Sundays, and strangely enough we would drive from our home in the southern part of the Myrtle Beach area to the town I live in now!! We had no way of knowing we would ever live here! But maybe we did on some subconscious level. I still have the car. I took Cooper for one last ride about a month ago. I noticed he had trouble getting in and out of the car, and on one day he didn't even want to go! His favorite thing! I should have taken that as a sign that something was wrong. 

I took Charlie and Petey for a ride in that car this week. The same route I would take Cooper during those Covid days and beyond. It wasn't the same. Cooper would just lay back (he was so laid back!) and sleep, and he enjoyed the rides so much. Charlie and Petey barked most of the time and didn't quiet down until we were a half hour away!

One thing about Cooper's death that I've noticed is that I don't feel AS guilty as I did with almost every other pet who has passed before he did. There was always something I did wrong that I shouldn't have done. Something I could have done that I didn't do. Something I did too much of (medication, mainly) that I should have stopped doing. Things I should have noticed but didn't. I can say that level of guilt is not there this time. It's a different type of grieving without so much guilt. Oh, there's a little, but not as much as the all-consuming guilt I have had with almost every one of my previous pets. There's a calm regarding the guilt portion of the program. But his absence is glaring and shocking, and the house is so quiet and different without Cooper. At times, it takes my breath away. Other times, I smile if I happen to see a picture of him, or if I see the cat, Tux, lying in Cooper's seat of the couch (Tux has taken over Cooper's seat on the couch!!). If I see a butterfly, or a cardinal. I know that's Cooper saying hello. 

Tux, sitting in Cooper's seat!

Life with Cooper was beautiful. I am so fortunate that I adopted him. He was a wonderful creature, "just" a dog, but a very special dog. I will never, ever forget him.

RIP Cooper

11/11/2011 - 3/29/2024