It promised to be a glorious day, and magically, I woke up early. I snuck out of bed without waking John, grabbed some clothes and went quietly to the living room. I opened the shutters and looked out to see the slightest bits of pink light starting to color the sky outside. Dawn was just breaking, and it looked to be a beautiful start.
“Wanna take a walk?” I asked Cooper, my year-and-a-half old Springer Spaniel.
Cooper wagged his tail, and headed towards the door. We grabbed his leash, my red jacket, and headed out into the morning.
And the morning was glorious. A November morning. Indian Summer, if there can be Indian Summer in Switzerland where there never were too many Indians.
We lived in the midst of dog and dog-lovers’ heaven. Our tiny house was located on the outskirts of a small village 20 minutes outside of Geneva, Switzerland in farm country. Our chalet looked just like a cuckoo-clock, and it stood as the last clock on a rural lane in what looked like a display of seven cuckoo-clock houses. Across the dirt road from the clocks were farm fields. The fields crossed the road to the left of our house and went on and on. Wheat, corn, hay, sunflowers, rape seed. The fields sloped gently down and gave way to vineyards and apple orchards until the hills gently ended at the town of Nyon and Lake Geneva. The Alps, with Mont Blanc, the highest peak in the Alps, rose above the Lake and the other mountains, as if placing its arms around the gang of mountains it hung out with.
Not a bad view*
(I’m pretty sure this is one of my pictures.)
Magestic. Magical. Make-your-heart-sing-like-Julie-Andrews-beautiful.
It was about 5:30 when Cooper and I headed out. We crossed the busy road that ran to the left of our house, and I let him off the leash. It was getting lighter, and I walked and watched my dog run, both of us smiling. He’d run a bit, then come back to check on me and run off once again.
Springer Spaniels are expressive dogs – their sad looks can melt your heart. But when they run, they embody joy. Pure and simple joy. And on that morning, Cooper ran with abandon through harvested corn fields that we passed first. His ears flapped and happiness spread across his face as he ran and jumped over cornstalks and literally ran circles around me in his delight.
We continued on the straight farm road that paralleled the Lake, passed fallow fields to where the road turned at a right angle and led us downhill towards the lake. By now, it was lighter — I could just start to make out Nyon Castle in the distance, although it was so far away that if you didn’t know it was there, you really couldn’t see it. The road crossed another farm road, and so we turned to the right again to continue on our normal loop that would lead us home, after a walk of about 2-1/2 miles. It was full morning, now; the sun glistened on Lake Geneva, the snow topped peaks and me and Cooper.
Up ahead on the left and right were fields of grass that would soon be harvested for hay. Cooper ran ahead and disappeared into the tall grass. I watched as the grass parted, showing me just where he was and how far he’d run.
But then I noticed a second line where the grass was parting for somebody else. Or something else. Whatever it was, it was heading straight towards Cooper.
Possibly the best way to describe Cooper would be as a fur-covered marshmallow. Everything inside — good and sugary. As a soft, squishy, completely sweet thing, Cooper didn’t understand aggression. Somehow it all worked out though – aggressive dogs never attacked or bothered him. Cooper wanted to play, and his playfulness was infectious. Even the most aggressive dogs found him endearingly stupid; and they always played with the sweet dope.
Still, when frightened, Cooper became a complete coward. If something frightened him, well, Cooper would run to me and hide behind my legs. Or behind John’s legs or later, behind Jacob’s. An all-inclusive coward, he’d hide behind us one and all.
So when the two paths in the grass converged, I wasn’t surprised at all to see Cooper come springing out, his face the picture of delight. He had a new friend, and was running towards me to share the good news.
There are some friends you just shouldn’t introduce to your mother. This was one.
Cooper had met a wild boar. An enormous, wild f’ing boar.
Google Image
She came out of the grass, and stopped in the middle of the road and stood there, all 250 pounds of her. She strutted her impressive bulk and looked from side to side.
I stood there, frozen, my mouth agape. I watched her breathe, knowing that I was unlikely to remember this meeting fondly.
I could see the sun touch the edges of her coarse, bristled fur where it was lighter than the part that came out of her back or side or anywhere else on her 250 pounds or so of solid flesh.
I could hear her breathing from about 75 feet away, as I backed up slowly. She breathed in and out, sometimes through her snout, and sometimes in wet breaths through her lips, which flapped occasionally. She breathed loudly.
I could smell her. She needed a bath. Or a run through a field of lavender, preferably in France.
SHIT!
We had been warned about wild boar, but in spite of long twice daily walks through the fields, we had never seen hide nor hair nor bristle; we didn’t worry. Cooper was delighted with his new friend. And he rushed over towards me to tell me so. I wasn’t so easily smitten.
Wild boars do not like dogs, they are known to attack and kill them. They aren’t fond of people, either. And rumor has it they aren’t terribly playful. And I wasn’t anxious to turn my lovely morning walk into a learning experience, either.
I looked over in the direction of the house and suddenly realized something extremely important:
It’s a long crawl home.
“Cooper, Come!” I shouted, stupidly, automatically.
In fact, I was not sure I really wanted him to come to me. Would I take on a wild boar to save my dog? Not if I thought about it logically. But then logic really has very little room in the brain of a dog-lover. Of course I would have taken on a wild boar to save my younger, dumb son. And of course, I would have lost. Especially since, in looking about, I realized that we were in the middle of a farm field and there wasn’t so much as a protective twig in sight. Damn the compulsively tidy Swiss.
I did not want to be wild boared.
Cooper, oblivious to the danger he was dancing around, he kept going up to the boar, prancing in front of her, running in circles around her, begging her to chase him, just like his doggy pals did.
“Come on, play!” he was obviously saying.
“Go away,” she was clearly thinking as she aimed a cold, bored glare at him.
I was pretty sure that if she chased him, it wouldn’t be to play. And then naturally, Cooper would panic, not know what to do. Oh who am I kidding – Cooper’s first and only though would be “MOM!” and he would run and hide behind me. And the boar would kill me, an innocent bystander.
I looked at my red jacket, glad I had worn that one so that they could find my crumpled, maimed, boar-ed body more easily.
“Dammit, Cooper, Come! Now!” I said more softly, trying to get him to leave her alone.
Nobody ever listens to me.
Cooper ran away from the boar towards me at last, but then he turned and ran back to her, again, circled around wagging his tail furiously, still trying to get her to play.
But suddenly, the situation changed. “Cooper, Come. Now!” I screamed it this time.
Because the boar had turned her head. She was now looking at me.
Naturally, Cooper ran around her again and fortunately she forgot about me in her irritation at the stupid dog. The boar, who seemed to have finally caught her breath, looked at Cooper like he was her pesky little brother. She shook her head once more, dismissive of the pest, and continued on her way uphill through the grass field. The grass separated as she pushed her way through.
Cooper came back to me, defeated, deflated, rejected. He looked sad in that tearful, long-eared way only a Springer spaniel can have. My boy’s feelings had been hurt. I was glad it had only been his feelings.
* * *
Cooper loved those fields, where he could cavort in relative safety, where he could run free, with his ears flapping. Doggy Heaven. Of course, it really didn’t matter where he was, Cooper was happy wherever he was, as long as John, Jacob and I were there with him.
Today, that’s where Cooper is — in doggy heaven. I am sure that he is back in the fields near Gingins, Switzerland. Running with unrestrained joy, looking out over Lake Geneva and Mont Blanc and the Alps. He’ll have his young dog body back, with no aches, pains or problems.
I hope he doesn’t run into any wild boars, though. Because it’ll be a while before John, Jacob or I will join him. For a while, there’ll be nobody for Coops to hide behind.
The Boys in the Jungfrau Region of Switzerland
Cooper
March 9, 1998 – August 13, 2013
* * *
To vote for this story in BlogHer, please go to: http://www.blogher.com/node/1393485/voty?category=VOTY%20-%20Heart%3A%20Feel%20it. Thanks!
FiftyFourandAHalf 
Oh, I’m so sorry! Sniff, sniff. Hugs to you. Great story. (I don’t know anyone who has a wild boar story.) Congrats on another FP.
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Thanks, Karen. Actually, I have 3 wild boar stories. Four, now that I think of it. Maybe I will post those.
And you’re my only blogging buddy to notice this was FP’d. It is always an honor, but …
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I noticed it days ago and I sat down three times to congratulate you but Elyse, life (read that kids) got in the way. Very excited for you. You have deserved it many times. Always happy for my favorite bloggers to get FP’d.
And yes, you must share the other wild boar stories! Really?
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What a beautifully written memory of a most beloved pet, thank you.
It is so easy to love with all our heart but it means that when we have to say goodbye we are left broken hearted. We can’t have the one without the other.
I believe that the reason we grieve the loss of our pets so deeply is because we attach to them with our hearts and we don’t rely on words (cognition) to connect with them. Our relationship is based purely on our feelings. Only once you have loved and lost a pet are you able understand just what this truly means.
So very sorry for your loss.
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Thank you for your nice words. You’re right, you can’t love without feeling the loss. That’s true of humans as well as furry friends.
You may be right about the relationship being based not on words. It’s a nice way to put it. There is just something so accepting about pets, particularly dogs. They love you, pure and simple. They don’t care about all the things that drive you crazy with the humans in your life — money, who left the toilet seat us (that’s a plus to them, isn’t it?)
Part of it to me is that you can trust them with your secrets. None of my dogs has ever ratted on me, or told the teacher, or broken a promise. You can’t say that of many people!
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Enjoyed your writing, on the edge of seat with the boar story. So sorry for your loss. We lost 2 beloved furry friends (feline type) the Spring & know the grief you feel.
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Thanks. And I’m sorry for yours. I just wish there was some way to keep our friends around. I guess, now that I think of it, there is. It’s called memories ;( .
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I’m so sorry to hear that … it must be really tough. I know you feel. I lost my dog last year and it was extremely sad. She was 15 going on 16 when it happened. Sending you good vibes and hope you’re doing better.
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Thank you Guat. And my sympathies to you, too. I’ve never really believed that time heals all wounds — when your heart is broken you heal but there is still a hole. It’s just not as raw after a bit.
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You weave this story from your heart. From one dog lover to another: I am sorry for your loss. There is something so special about the love between an animal and it’s owner. We are blest beyond measure by that love. I know God doesn’t make junk, everything His hands touch hold great beauty. Cooper is waiting and will see you when you’re called Home, too. Peace to you and yours.
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Thank you, Coffee. I often feel sad for the people who don’t know the love of a dog (or another animal friend). It really is such a big part of my life. Yours too from the sound of it!
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We never get over our furry family members. We lost our Toby who was an Australian Silky Terrier about 6 years ago. We finally opened our hearts and family to a young rescue dog last year. We smile because we know Toby would love Mac. Your Cooper will always be walking with you, wherever you go.
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Thanks for your nice comment. I know that Cooper is romping around with many long lost/long loved companions.
You held out for a very long time — I don’t know if I will be able to. My husband is of the mind that we must grieve for a while before getting a new one. I already feel the pull on my heartstrings — you don’t stop grieving just because you have a new dog! This time, my husband works at home (I was home with our son when our previous two dogs died). It is lonely being at home with no companionship.
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I must confess…I came home with a kitten from my friend’s house the week after Toby died. My husband said, “I thought you said no more pets for now.” I said, “No, I said no more DOGS for now, this animal barely needs me.” Also, our boys were very young and I worried about keeping dogs and kids at peace on a daily basis. Our boys are 7 and 10 now and a week doesn’t go by that one of them says, “Mom, I love Mac, thank you for letting us have a dog.” Boys need dogs and so does this Mom.
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Oh, that’s sweet. I agree that kids need dogs. The ones I had growing up comforted me when my siblings picked on me, or I had a bad day or I got in trouble. They make you realize that you’re going to be OK. This mom needs a dog too. Strangely, my son isn’t much of a dog person. He loved Cooper, though, of course. Everybody did.
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I always said that a dog was going to find US! And…he did 🙂 There is one out there for you too.
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I don’t worry about that at all. My family always went out and got a new dog right away to fill that hole. My husband needs to grieve. But he is working from home these days, and the house will be very empty … we will have another before too long.
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What a lovely story and tribute. I’m missing my own beautiful goof, Sazi, our Golden Retriever who passed in March. You captured in your story that Coops was a funny wonderful special dog friend. I’m sorry for your loss.
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Thank you Cathy (or is it Carey?). It is universal among dog owners, I think. They give us so much love that, well, they are really missed when they’re gone.
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A beautiful story. I never understand people who do not understand the attachment one has with a pet. Some pets do indeed become part of the family. My wife has four cats and if the truth be told she probably would trade me in before her little kitties. By the way one is eighteen, one ten, one three and one six months old. I on the other hand am 67 so she may have a point on doing the trading.
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You know, Barry, I think that there are pet people and people who just don’t get it. Pet people do get the attachment, but I think it’s hard for some of them to express it. They don’t like to think about the fact that it will happen to them too. Because, sadly, it will.
I bet your wife wouldn’t really trade you in. I do want to trade in my husband on occasion, but the laws are pretty clear on that. It is verbotten. Still, “How Can I Miss You if You Won’t Go Away” is a brilliant song.
Weird song to choose given the subject of this post!
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As you read my stuff you will note that I have a weird sense of humor. I am a cynic with a touch of hope, add some absurd notions, a lot of resentment, a dash of stubborn, a pinch of sea salt and well you get the drift. Loved the touch of adding the music, please describe how you did that. I am computer half illiterate. But like an old dog I can learn a new trick if the bone tastes good. After being married since 1970 my wife will not trade me in. She is to practical for that. She is smarter than me. She bought a burial site and asked for only three feet. Economical of her, don”t you think?
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Adding music is easy, actually. I paid Word Press to do it but I don’t know if it now free.
Here is a link to a video on how to do it in a post — but the “Add Media” looks slightly different now than it did when this was made. Same category names, it is now just easier:
http://wordpress.tv/2009/01/05/embedding-photos-video-audio-into-your-posts/
To do it in a comment, you simply add the url (http://etc) in a new line and the video appears. IF you put the url on the same line, you will leave a link.
You’re welcome to experiment here!
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You tube are the only videos I can get to work, though. Because I thought i was putting in a video to this clip. Not a link!
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I sincerely appreciate your input. Thank you so much. I will try it soon. Right now I am working on a cat piece that I am attempting to put in. I will be finished in a few minutes and would love your feed back. If it could be done I would love to add to it some background music that makes sense. What do you think would play well?
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The first thing that came to mind was “Cat Scratch Fever” but then I don’t know what the piece is about! Something by Cat Stevens?
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Good one. What do you think of the piece. It is posted and short. Trying to be cute.
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Dang it. I’m absolutely in tears.
Having just said good bye to a beloved pet myself, I sort of hope Cooper and Tigger (okay, he’s of the feline species) run into one another. Happiness abounds in the hereafter.
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You know, Rogue, it may be that Cooper had to go to heaven to have any kitties to play with. We have close friends we all visit often; they have 4 cats. The cats would not play, and Cooper just didn’t understand. He really just couldn’t believe that someone didn’t want to play with him. Exactly how he felt when the wild boar rejected him. Total devastation!
Sorry for your loss, too. Writing does help, though. It always does!
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This was the most beautiful good-bye I ever did see. If I wasn’t at work I am sure to have been sobbing. I lost a pet last year and it is the most depressing, devastating experience when it arrives. I know he is equally as happy in heaven and when we visit he’ll be just as happy to see us as we are happy to see him.
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You know it really did help to write this. The funny thing is, I’d drafted this story ages ago, but it just didn’t fit in with anything else I was writing. I’m glad it worked out that way, because I finished it the night Cooper died and I can’t tell you how much it helped me get through that first horrible night.
I’m sure your friend (furry?) is waiting for you, whenever you come. Just like he/she waited for you to come home. (And I swear, walking through the door is the hardest part)
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I couldn’t agree more. For months I’d walk home and when he wasn’t there waiting my heart would break. Lots of tears were shared in his loss and the I have two others they’ll never replace the bond with the one you first choose with your man.
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In 9th grade we got a dog after my previous two were put to sleep (long, traumatic story I haven’t told). I looked at the cute puppy we had just gotten and told him “I’m not going to love you like I did Okie.” He looked at me, and rolled over, giving me his belly. I DID love him, but differently. I think every furry friend is different, and you can’t compare them.
And my husband had to take my dog — we were a package deal: https://fiftyfourandahalf.com/2012/12/02/for-medicinal-purposes-only/
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I’m so with you. There are so many loves and I don’t know what I’d do without my two furry girls. They’re my world now.
Totally clicking on this goodness!
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This is beautiful, and made me cry for my girl. 3 years gone in September, but no less missed – I lost my best friend the day she left us.
Copper sounds like he would love her though- she was a lab and desperate to play! I hope they’ve found each other for company until I can catch up. x
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From the comments, there are a whole lot of our faithful friends playing with Cooper in that field. (I’m sure the farmer is not happy!) It is such a hard thing to lose a friend, but when that friend is with you so much, well with each breath you realize they are absent.)
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Play nice, please.
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Are you talking to me, Cooper, or the Boar?!
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i was holding to the edge of my laptop thinking of what would happen, so sorry about losing Cooper. Am sure he must be looking down and smiling and bringing smiles to many in his heaven.
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Thanks, Moods (I love your blog name — doesn’t that capture life perfectly?) And thank you for stopping by.
I think Coops is feeling better now. It was a few years since he could run in the fields — he had all kinds of health problems towards the end. It helps to think of him running happily, with his ears flapping.
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thanks Elyse. Memories are just what makes living worth it all 🙂
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You almost made me cry 😥
I lost my little dachshund (he was only 12 weeks old) when a neighbouring dog attacked him – it was awful! I had to pick his mangled body up off the neighbours driveway. I am soooo glad that you did not have to experience anything like that in Cooper vs wild boar!
I’m sorry for your loss – I am sure you will have thousands of wonderful memories of Cooper!
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Oh dear, Nutty, what a terrible experience! I’m glad that I didn’t have to haul a mangled dog home, too. But in this instance, Cooper would have hidden behind me and I would be mangled. Then Cooper would have gone home, Lassie like, for help. Or more likely, he would have just gone home for breakfast!
I’ve been negotiating getting a small dog next time around (my husband is a big dog kinda guy) but there are so many hawks and owls around here, that I would worry about the safety of a little guy. (A neighbor of mine lost a toy poodle to a hawk!) So, a little bit of bulk might be a saving grace.
Thanks for stopping by and for reading Cooper’s story and sharing yours.
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Reblogged this on A Curious Gal and commented:
This is one wonderful story, enjoy!!
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Thanks for the reblog, Gal. Or should I call you Curious. Or Rio!
It’s a story from my heart. Sadly, that heart is currently broken. ;(
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So well done!! Sorry for your loss, what a wonderful companion he was!!
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What a nice tribute to Cooper! May Cooper’s memories be a blessing to you!
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Thanks so much Seg. Writing helps, and I’m sure time will. It is always so sad to lose a good friend.
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Tis true!! Sounds like you and Cooper had a great relationship! http://www.segmation.wordpress.com
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I was holding my breath while reading and didn’t realize it until I got to the end. I hope Cooper had a peaceful passing to the next world. I am sure that you will be reunited in time. Until then, I don’t know if you are Christian or not, he will be held in the loving arms of Christ.
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Thank you — and yes, I’m pretty sure I’ll be reunited with all my furry friends sooner or later!
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Aaaw. RIP Cooper.
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Thanks, Ginger. I’m sure he is. Unless there is a boar, of course.
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I have been assured that there are no angry boars in heaven.
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I’m so glad I don’t have to worry about that! Thanks, Ginger!
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EXCELLENT writing … loved it 🙂
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Thank you!
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All the Beaglez, including their moms, are so sorry for your loss. And we are so thankful you and Cooper had such a loving, fun, adventurous life journey before it came to pass.
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Thanks, BM. Cooper did have a good life — 15 plus years. He got to live in 3 countries and travel around Europe and the US. Not bad at all!
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Arrrrrrh, eye, tear. Beautiful boy. Been there recently twice myself and I found it did help writing about it.
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The writing really did help. Now if I can only figure out how to not cry whenever I get no furry greeting upon walking into the house or room, I’ll be in great shape!
Sorry you’re in this club, too.
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Oh I know. I now dog sit from time to time, had one go home yesterday and I’m mourning that. Honestly.
Mine were old and had great lives. Bertie was 16 and Flynn who died in April 15 – both golden Retrievers. But it’s the little electric shocks like
oh 5.00 need to feed Flynn etc.
My advice – just cry.
And write some more.
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Thanks. I’ll be doing both of those, I’m sure!
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Great story! I was in suspense the whole time that boar was on the scene! I also have a couple of dumb dogs. I mean seriously, dumb as a bag of hammers, but so lovable. I’m sorry your pup is gone. One of my others died a couple of years ago in the most inconvenient of places of course. I had to carry her several hundred yards to the car with tears in my eyes. We drove to the liquor store and shared one more can of beer together before I left her at the vet wrapped in her favorite blanket. Damn dogs!
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Thanks! Until Cooper, I’d really only had smart dogs. I must say, Cooper usually managed to stay out of trouble.
Sorry to hear about the one that must have passed so suddenly — but I love the idea of having a last beer. Dogs make great drinking buddies — I’m writing a memoir of my alcoholic, psychotic Goliath — https://fiftyfourandahalf.com/2012/12/02/for-medicinal-purposes-only/.
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So sorry for your loss. What a lovable face he had. I’d like to think there are boars in heaven, but the kind that are sweet and playful, just like Cooper wanted.
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Thanks. If there are wild boars up there, I hope they smell better than the one Coops introduced me to. She did not give off a very heavenly aroma!
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I’m very sorry for your loss – my mum has a Springer Spaniel and he’s the most loving, loyal companion… I hope he’s very happy in doggy heaven and my thoughts are genuinely with you. Beautiful post…
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Thanks, Suzie. I’m sure he’s happy, but he probably misses us as much as we miss him.
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Beautiful tribute, Elyse. My heart goes out to you all.
I’ll keep an eye out for parting grass and glimpses of Cooper’s spirit in these parts (and another for actual boars – gah!)
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Thanks, Cortney.
And do watch out for wild boars. They like mornings and evenings. And they aren’t nice. I saw another one one night after we moved to France (Divonne). He was much bigger and stood posing in the street light. Fortunately, Cooper was on the leash that time and we watched, silently, from a respectful distance!
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Pingback: Opinions in the Shorts: Vol. 193 | A Frank Angle
Elyse, this is one of my most favorite post in your blog. It was a beautifully written story. I am sure this time, your words came straight from your heart.
RIP, Cooper!!
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Thanks, Arindam. But your comment begs the question: where do most of my posts come from?!?!
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They mostly come From your mind!!
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Phew! I thought you were talking about a different part of my anatomy!
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Ha! I can never do that. You know me well.
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I am terrified of wild boars. I was chased by one when I was 5 or 6, in my Daisy troop. We were on a hike with our scout master when we encountered a female boar with her piglets. She chased us all the way back to our cabin and then paced in front of our cabin door for what seemed like ages. They are so scary! I’m so glad you and Cooper made it out okay and that he lived to share many happy memories with you 🙂 I love springer spaniels. Good, good dogs!
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Wild boars are truly scary — and unpredictable. But I think your scare was far worse than mine! If our boar had been a mama, I think things would have ended quite differently.
And yes, springers are wonderful dogs. Coops most of all.
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Love the story, but the ending is difficult. Peace and strength to you because losing pets (as you know) is hard …. very hard. Cheers to the many joys Cooper brought to you that will stay with your forever.
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Thanks, Frank. The house is very quiet and very sad.
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😦
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Exactly.
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Really enjoyed reading that.
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Thanks
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That’s a beautiful story, Elyse, and I’m so sorry for your loss.
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Thanks, Laura. Twice.
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Losing a pet is such a difficult thing … I’m sorry, very sorry for your loss.
I’ve always liked this poem by Pablo Neruda, written after the death of his dog … http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-dog-has-died/
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Thanks John. Loss is never easy, no matter who it is. Love. Dogs are so incredibly loving, no matter what you do, they just love you.
I’m not much for poetry, but thanks for sending that one. But of course he’s lying. Nobody with a heart just buries their dog and goes on. Nobody who’s has a dog, anyway.
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Very sorry to read of this news …
MJ
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Thanks, MJ. This was not a club I wanted to be in — I’m pretty sure you feel the same way.
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yeah … *sigh
With a heavy heart, I get it. Boy, do I get it.
– MJ
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I’m working on my memoir of my alcoholic psychotic german shepherd. He’s not going to die, though. Nope. Once was more than enough.
Sniff. Sending you sympathy hugs.
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Good dog, Cooper.
Sending this on to a good friend, who lost her beloved Springer a month ago.
Wishing you many happy memories; there is nothing like a really good dog.
Hugs to all of you.
Karen
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Thanks, Moms/Karen. Nobody touches your heart quite like your dog does. There was an article in the NY Times not long ago that said it is harder to lose your pet than your parent. I think it’s probably true — my parents didn’t meet me at the door and slobbered. They got annoyed with me from time to time. Our Dogs? Nope. They love us no matter what.
Gotta go get a hanky.
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Elyse, I am sorry……he was a great dog ( and you know how I feel about dogs).
Now you will need to find another excuse for not wanting to have lunch with me!
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Thanks, Judy. You have always been particularly sweet to my dogs, even though you don’t like them. I was going to send you an email, but it’s not like sending a birth announcement …
And I think that you gave me a good excuse for avoiding lunch dates with you by moving to another state. That is my trick, not yours. I want it back.
XX
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I am so, so sorry.
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Thanks, Kate. Me too. The house feels very empty tonight.
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Oh my Cooper and a Wild Boar in the middle of the road cavorting. I am betting the Boar thought, WTH and Cooper thought, “Why are you so boring!”
I get it you thought, “SHIT”. What I am not getting is why didn’t you think, “RUN!”
This was such a well told story. You had the best companions. I love the picture of ‘The Boys’, what love!
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Never, ever run from an animal. Many of them have poor eyesight and can only see you when you move (especially if you are wearing a red jacket). So freezing in abject terror is actually a highly intelligent reaction. And that morning I was highly, highly intelligent.
I have read that if you are chased by an alligator (which is not an animal it is a large mammal-eating reptile) you should run in a zig zag because they can’t.
You have no idea how much useless information I have in my head. Thank you for letting me put some of it into yours.
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Thank you for that information, I will treasure it.
I use to keep snakes, really big snakes. Right after the shed they are blind and hungry! The last thing to shed is the eye. So they track dinner with sound, never ever put your hand in a big snake cage after they shed to grab that pretty skin!
Now you have a piece of useless information also.
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Thanks for that info, Val. I will stop doing what I’ve done so often — grabbing snake skins that aren’t yet made into shoes.
Actually, I recently had a snake experience.
First of all, my garage is not neat. That’s important to keep in mind.
I took Cooper out for a late night pee through the garage. We were half way back to the inside garage door when for some reason, John came out and checked on us. We stood there talking, me guiding poor blind Cooper back towards the door, when I noticed a bungee chord on the floor. Out of place. Of course everything in the garage is out of place.
Anyway, I was reaching to pick it up, when i realized that it wasn’t a bungee chord! Nope, it was a copperhead snake! Cooper didn’t step on it, I didn’t pick it up. John did have to deal with it, but hell, what are husbands for?
Moral? Be careful with bungee chords.
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So sorry to read of your loss, it is so hard to say goodbye. May the best memories keep him in your heart forever, even the adrenaline-filled ones!
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Eliza, what kind words. Thank you.
It is hard to say goodbye. But he will be in my heart, as you say, forever.
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That was a remarkable story and tribute to your beloved Cooper. What a special part of your life. I am sad for your loss, but there is joy in imagining him playing in heaven, perhaps even with a heavenly boar! Blessings to you and your family as you remember him and celebrate his life!
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Based on the smell alone, that boar is NOT in heaven!
Thanks for your sympathies, Amphomma. I will gladly accept all the cyber hugs I can get.
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Oh, I am so sorry Elyse to hear about Cooper! He sounds like a lovely young fur son! He can play with my Bandit who also loved to romp & was a scaredy-cat too! They can make each other brave!
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Bandit was a scaredy-dog, too? I didn’t know that! Yes, Cooper’s full name was “Gary Cooper” but he didn’t live up to the comparison in terms of bravery. Handsomeness, absolutely. Bravery? Not so much.
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So sorry about the recent loss of your pet. Lovely story, and I’m glad the boar realized she shouldn’t mess with you.
Switzerland is gorgeous. I’ve only been there once, but those views will stay with me forever. How wonderful you got to experience them daily.
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Normally I frighten aggressors with my rapier wit. This time, I would have needed a rapier to fight her off. Luckily, hand-to-snout combat wasn’t in the cards. Or in the fields.
Switzerland was truly beautiful. I still can’t believe I was lucky enough to live in a place I had dreamed of visiting since I first saw Heidi (I hated the move, but loved the scenery). I was happy that they interrupted the Superbowl to play my movie, though.
Was that too obscure? Here is the Wikipedia page on it: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heidi_Game
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Haha, yes, thank you for the reference. I definitely needed that. 🙂
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What a beautiful tale of Cooper’s adventure. Makes me want to give him a big hug, and exchange happy smiles with him. What a beautiful little man.
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Oh, I’d love to give him one more hug, 99. Just one more. Maybe two. You’re never ready to lose a friend, are you?
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What a wonderful story and tribute to Cooper. He was a special gift to your family.
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Thanks Mercy. Surprisingly, I don’t have too many Cooper stories. He was good and loyal and didn’t drive us crazy (those dogs give the best stories). He was very special and I miss him like crazy. There’s a big hole in our home.
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It’s hard to type a comment with tears clouding my eyes. What a beautiful tribute to a much loved member of the family.
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Thanks, Paprika. I have to admit I’m tearing up every few minutes. Coming home from work and getting no furry greeting was the worst.
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I understand that feeling completely. I know how difficult it is. Scooter has been gone for 8 months and I still expect to see him sleeping in his favorite spot. Hang in there.
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Thanks.
I don’t think you really get over these things. I haven’t yet recovered from Old Yeller’s death in 1963.
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A beautiful memory and loving tribute.
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Thanks, Cole. He was terrific, and he lived a long time. So we’re very lucky. And of course, lucky that neither of us died violently back in 1999!
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I’m betting Cooper has made friends with all the heavenly boars.
Much to the astonishment of the rest of the angels.
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He did make friends with everybody but this boar. I figure it was her loss. Because Cooper was great fun.
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I’m so sorry, Elyse. RIP, Cooper.
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Thanks, TwinDaddy. I’m pretty sorry too. He was the sweetest boy. Who needs brains when you have so much heart, right?
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Well, brains help a little, I think. If I develop some I’ll let you know.
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I hereby award you “Doctor of Thinkology”
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Awwwwww. thanks.
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Well, I had to give you something, didn’t I? But I’ve always thought you had a brain, courage and a heart. But you can never have too many brains.
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Some times I do. Other times, not so much.
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You are too hard on yourself.
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So happy for Jacob, you and John that you enjoyed so many more years together. Wonderful tribute to Cooper…your pet with a memorable name.
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Thanks, Georgette. I’m glad we both survived our encounter with the boar, too. And that I didn’t have to defend him, the dope!
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This was a perfectly told story. I was on the edge of my seat. And now I’m getting all misty-eyed remembering my own beloved childhood dog. RIP Cooper.
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Thanks, Darla. I’m pretty misty-eyed myself.
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Aw..RIP Cooper. I hope no boars exist in doggy heaven.
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That or that they’re more like Pumba.
Thanks. Sniff.
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