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 
I came over from Susie’s party and I’m so glad I did. What a beautiful, funny, and touching story! I can see both why you loved Cooper and how much he’s missed. Just gave my pup a hug in Cooper’s honor.
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Thanks, Barb. Yes, I miss the furball. We are only now starting to think of our next reason to vacuum. Soon, I hope, I will need to do so most days!
I enjoyed your story too. What a wild life!
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Precious, beautiful story. You told this so well I thought I could see Cooper in that field, wild boar and all.
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Thanks, Trend ;). I’m sure that’s where he is. Thinking of how happy he was running in those fields made me feel better at the time (and still). I hope the boar’s idea of heaven is somewhere else, though!
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I have to admit, I thought that story was going to end up in a bad place, but glad it didn’t. I’m sure Cooper is in a good place.
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Thanks. Me too.
(My stories rarely result in anything more serious than humiliation. Generally mine.
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I read and voted.
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Thanks! It’ll always make me remember him you and pain-free.
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I forgot to mention that I love the new picture!
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I don’t know how I missed this back in August, but I’m glad to see it (with blurry eyes, part because of no glasses and part because of tears) now. Such a beautiful tribute.
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Thanks, Deb. I miss my little friend. But thinking of him, running happily in that field made his passing just a slight bit less painful. Writing is amazingly healing!
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Having been a dog lover all my life, I am sincerely and deeply sorry for your loss, Elyse. I just now had to pause… to find the right words to describe how I felt when I read your tribute to Cooper. It’s one of the most beautifully moving, and engaging as it is heartbreaking, pieces of writing that I’ve ever read.
It was truly brilliant Elyse, and just the other night I showed your post to my wife Jean, who has also been a dog lover all her life. She was moved to tears after she read it. She asked me to tell you on her behalf, that she is very sorry for your loss, and to thank you for so articulately expressing your feelings with such a well written story, since reading what you wrote, helped her to validate her own ongoing feelings of grief and loss, for our dog Bo.
Sincerely,
Chris AND Jean
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Thanks, Chris and Jean.
There was a New York Times article some months ago that said that it is harder to lose a pet than a parent. I think that is very true. Because my parents never jumped all over me and let me know that I hung the moon the way my dogs have. But nobody loves you the way your dog does. Nobody.
I actually wrote this with Cooper still at my feet. The vet would come a few hours later, and I spent some time editing it after the fact. But the image of his happy, healthy face, bounding through those fields helped me immensely. And now, three months later, it still helps. I miss him, but I know he’s having a blast. And I know that he doesn’t hurt any more. The fact that I still do over losing him, well, that’s to be expected.
Thanks for writing, both of you, and my sympathies on your loss of Bo, too.
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Thanks for your sympathies for our loss of Bo, and thanks also for sharing with us that you wrote this post at that time, and under those circumstances. It makes your post even more deeply meaningful for me, and I know that my wife will feel the same way, only even more so, when she reads your reply.
You wrote “But nobody loves you the way your dog does. Nobody.”
I agree.
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Beautifully written. I could feel your tension reading it. RIP, Cooper.
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Thank you. It was very therapeutic. Welcome to my blog.
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That Eva Cassidy song’s the one
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Absolutely. Although I now have a hard time listening to it. It makes me sad.
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Echo that. She is a sad tale herself, what a gem. Something to that, the great ones who don’t seem to get the attention they should. Enjoy your weekend!
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I was so sure Cooper was going to meet his end with the boar! Thank god he didn’t. Your writing completely captured me. RIP Cooper
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I was pretty sure he would that morning, too!
Thanks for stopping by and commenting.
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Pingback: Goodbye long, hot Summer | Food For Thought
Beautiful memory. I have recently lost my precious pet. Losing at pet is at least as painful as losing a human.
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Thanks Diana,
It really is harder in ways to lose a pet — partially I think it’s because of the unconditional love/total devotion. But also because they are always there. When they’re gone you feel their absence whenever you walk in the door. Me, I fought with Cooper who insisted on being silently behind me whenever I cooked dinner. Now I keep looking for him and am sad that I am now sure I won’t trip over him!
Thank you for stopping by.
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Reblogged this on Kusadasishopper and commented:
I just had to share this. Wonderfully written and just so beautiful.
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Thank you! I’m glad you liked the story.
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What a beautiful story , and condolence to you. RIP Copper.
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Thank you Samokan. We miss him.
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What a beautiful tribute to Cooper! A wonderfully written, great illustration of who and how he was! Have you read the book “Art of Racing in the Rain”?
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Thanks for your nice comment, Tawny. I haven’t heard of the book, but I just looked it up on Amazon. I have to admit that I love to write up my dog stories but I hardly ever read them — it never works out well for the dog in the end. I’ve never gotten over Old Yeller’s death when I was six. Cooper is the 7th dog I’ve lost, and while I think that the love you get from your dog is worth the pain you feel when you lose him, I try not to lose other peoples dogs too! My heart just can’t take it!
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I totally understand and feel the same about dog books in general! This one was written from the perspective of the dog, and a quite funny dog at that. He often obsesses about not having opposable thumbs and a palate shaped the wrong way to be able to form human words. It is the ending (and the profound lessons weaved into the story) that is the best of any dog book I have ever survived! It is how I choose to believe it goes as my 12 year old lab mixes and I are muttering through “aging dog” together for my first time.
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That sounds terrific, actually (the book, not facing the aging factor). But I’m currently working on a book about my psychotic alcoholic German Shepherd and I want to keep myself “pure” until I finish. This book will go on my list though. OF course, I need to finish my book….
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A moving tribute, thoughtfully articulated. Nicely done!
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Thanks, Karl. He was a sweet boy. Dumb as could be, but sweeter than anyone.
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Elyse I’m so sorry to hear about Cooper. I hope he took Chester along for the ride to Switzerland. Sending big ((hugs)).
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Thanks, Tops. I bet they’re having a blast!
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Cooper sounds like a lovely. loyal and loved dog, and I’m so sorry for your loss. Someone I know is fond of saying that dogs are a force for good in the world, and I really believe that to be true. Glad you were blessed with Cooper for as long as you had him. I’m going to hug my dog now.
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Oh…I’m so sorry for your loss, but you’re right..he is definitely in doggy heaven enjoying himself 🙂
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Hi Elyse, this is beautifully written..I’m pretty sure that even though Cooper is already in heaven he will still be loyal to you and your family. ^_^
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It seems Cooper had a wonderful and love filled life. You can’t ask for more than that. I am sorry for your loss. He certainly was a beauty. That last shot with your young boy is absolutely priceless. I’m glad he left you with so many wonderful memories.
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Thanks Michelle. We all had a very good life together.
And the picture is one of my very favorites — Jacob was about 8, Cooper about 2. And it was a lovely walk heading towards the Eiger!
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Damn, end of the night here for me and you would have to go and make this old dog lover tear up…great story.
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So sorry, We. I think though that a good Ru before bed helps you sleep. At least that’s what I found in the week since Cooper passed.
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Wonderful story…captures all the essence of our best friends…(I call my 2 dogs my boys, too) sad to hear about Cooper’s passing…but glad to see he enjoyed a long & happy life with a wonderful family!
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Thanks, Laura. Yes, my boy Cooper was well loved.
Glad you stopped by!
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With your story I could picture Cooper so explicit around that wild boar. I feel sorry for your loss. I miss my dog now.
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Thanks. The story makes me smile. I think, though, that missing them simply reminds us of how important they are to us.
Thank you for visiting, commenting and I see that you’ve followed, too. Welcome!
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Elyse, I love this story. I’m so sorry to hear of Cooper’s passing. They are such a part of out lives, and there’s nothing happier than a springer. It sounds like he lived a heck of a life.
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Thanks Lorri. He did have an adventure-filled life. What a sweetie.
I’m having eggs for breakfast right now — he always got a bite. Sniff …
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Dear Elyse,
So sorry for your loss.
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Thanks, Naomi.
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Pingback: Boaring Followup | FiftyFourandAHalf
We never really lose them, Elyse. That’s the good part. Once the pain lessens, we have so many stories with them in in the center… it’s like they never left. They do make the warmest memories!
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That really is true. But it will be a while before I won’t shed a tear when I come home from work …
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Awesome story. Makes me want to reach over and give my babies a big hug. Won’t take them for a walk for awhile though. Thanks for sharing the wonderful story.
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Thanks, Chef. But go ahead and walk them. I’d keep them on the leash, though! Not that I listen to my own advice, but still …
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Delightful. Enjoyed your post. I felt like I was right there with you and Cooper. Great imagery!
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Thanks, James. It was a lovely lovely place. And Cooper fit right in!
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You are a gifted story-teller, Elyse. Coops must be palling around with a few of my good old buddies–all waiting patiently for us–the ones they left behind.
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Thanks, Lorna. I’m sure he’s having a good time with all the lost friends. And he is waiting patiently, I’m pretty sure. Sleeping on the good rug while he does, naturally, just like he did waiting for us to come home from work.
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Now you’re making me sniffle…
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I’ve been doing that for over a week now (we made the terrible decision last weekend, and Cooper passed on Tuesday. I should have bought stock in Kleenex.)
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Puffs, Darling. They are easier on the nose. Trust me. I’m so sorry to hear that the pain is still raw. I know it well. I still wax sentimental about Humphrey, Wolfer, Reggie, and Jazzy–and they have all been gone a while now. I look at my aging Scrappy and try not to pre-mourn him, but I get caught in that trap. 😦
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Actually I agree on Puffs — much better. But the name isn’t as ubiquitous as Kleenex …
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What a wonderful, love-filled, adventure-filled life Cooper had with you! I just know he is grinning as only a dog can do as he recalls this great story you recounted. It is always so hard to say goodbye to our faithful friends . . .
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Thanks, Kat. I am sure he is happily cavorting off leash, getting into little bits of trouble and eating vile things off the ground …
And yes, it is hard to say goodbye. And to feel the absence.
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What a lovely story. Did you get another dog, or do you prefer just to have the memories of Cooper?
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We will get another dog before too long. Cooper just died last week, the day before I posted this piece. Writing it helped me think of him happy and whole and running through the fields again. It helped a lot.
But I am a dog person. Life just isn’t the same without sweeping up dog hair all the time!
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I am so sorry for your loss. This is such a meaningful way to honor such a lovely little soul. You have me in tears here in Okinawa, as I watch my little Barley sleep and hope to have many years left to do so. It sounds like Cooper had a great life at your side. Sending warm, fuzzy thoughts your way. Thank you for sharing.
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I wish you many years with Barley — what a great name! Cooper did have a good life, but our furry friends just never last long enough.
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Thank you! My husband brews beer, so we also have a cat named Hops. If only they could be by our side forever. Cooper will live on in the many great memories you have of him. 🙂
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Thanks! I love those names!
I once had a psychotic, alcoholic german shepherd. I’m writing a memoir about him. But here’s a sample: https://fiftyfourandahalf.com/2012/12/02/for-medicinal-purposes-only/
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What a beautiful way to pay tribute to Cooper. I’m so sorry for your loss. He no doubt lived a full and wonderful life and you all miss him terribly.
As for wild pigs, we get them here too down in SE Texas. The males get to be 600 lbs — 10″ teeth and all — so we are careful not to venture into their territory by the Brazos. Since we’ve taken the rest of their land, they are left to small pockets of thick forest in the area. They breed profusely and occasionally roam through suburban neighborhoods foraging for food. A female with a litter (and I suspect that’s what you ran into) is a contender for us. I look forward to seeing your future stories. I guess I’ll have to (it’s about time) follow your blog to read further.
Congrats on another FP. 🙂
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Thanks, Shannon, for your kind words and the follow.
They are pretty scary animals. I’ve read about how they are now invading everything. Invaders who chase people and pets are not welcome! We actually figured that the one Cooper met was an adolescent female, according to the locals. One meeting that size had been seen by others. If she’d had babies, she probably would have attacked. And then the story would have been less sweet and probably involved broken bodies!
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Reblogged this on withaneagle.
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Thanks for the reblog!
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Couldn’t help it. Its a great read! thanks to you.
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So sad to lose Cooper. My sincerest sympathy to you. I have an aging Labrador..I pray he’ll make it to his 12th b-day coming up in September. The finest, most loyal, loving dog I have ever known. He’s my world. But he’s starting to slip fast…a beautiful teddy bear of a doggy. My heart is aching for your beautiful dog’s leaving you…they are special treasures from heaven, I am sure of it.
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Thanks, CJ. It is hard to see them age. Cooper started having real problems around his 12th birthday — but he made it for three more years. So you never know. Just love him for however long you can. That’s my advice. (Not that you stop loving them when they go.)
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Elyse, I am sorry to hear about your beautiful Cooper. I know how hard it is…
I am glad -even at a sad moment like this- to have found out about your blog, from Frank.
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Thanks. Yes, Cooper was pretty special.
Frank sent you? It’s always good to know how someone found you, isn’t it. Frank is one of my favorite bloggin’ buddies (but don’t tell him that, I wouldn’t want it to go to his head!) So welcome!
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Mine too – I won’t tell, don’t worry! 😉
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I love dogs and I loved your story. God bless Cooper. I too believe they’ll all be with us in heaven. 🙂
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Thanks! And I can’t believe we won’t see him again. Nope, I won’t believe that!
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Wowzer, is this the second time you’ve been freshly pressed?
Sorry to hear about Cooper, hope he’s roaming in a place where all the boars are friendly.
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Hi Greg, thanks for stopping by. I checked out your blog because one of my nephews, Jamie, recently went to China to teach. I’m sure, given the few folks who live there, that you and Jamie have already connected and you are best buds! Ammirite?
I think that Cooper is in a place with friendly boars. Perhaps they are friendly bores (I decided many years ago that the way one has to live to make it to heaven seems likely to lead to a very boring place up there). But Cooper was doing poorly for several years, and he could no longer run with the joy that he once had. It was sad to see him grow old. Partly because I am growing old, too!
In answer to your question about the all important FP — this is actually my third time. You inspired me to update my categories and so you can see the two other posts that made the hit parade. The first one I don’t think was all that good. The second one was pretty good. This one I am very proud of, as it spoke from my heart. My broken heart. I think it is one that anyone with a pet can relate to.
There are other posts I am proud of that didn’t make the cut — and that’s OK. It is an honor, and it brings you lots of new readers, and that is great. But I think that I blog as a way to improve my writing, to tell stories that I like to tell.
People blog for all sorts of reasons. Yours seems to be to catalog your experiences in China. How I wish blogging had been available when I was living in Switzerland — I might have a better collection of memories than I have now. I followed you tonight because it is so exciting to be somewhere new and different. To expand your mind. To learn to adapt and adjust yourself to a whole different culture and language. I can’t wait to read more about your journey!
Perhaps I should have put all of this into a post — it is long enough!
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Pingback: On Not Taking No | A Frank Angle
What a great story and memory. So glad the boar decided to enjoy the encounter with Cooper!
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Hi, PW! Thanks — it is a fun memory. Especially since neither of us was boared! But I’m sure that our bristly friend told the story of the stupid dog she encountered in a field one day for a long, long time. And she would have been rolling her eyes during the telling, I’m sure!
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Ah, a kindred spirit in boar form 😉 Eye rolling is such an expressive art form for me. Just wish I would remember to always wear sunglasses to keep that particular expression hidden.
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Aw! This nearly made me cry. We were blessed to have Spyro, our Cocker Spaniel, in our lives for thirteen years. He was a bundle of joy! We miss him very much, but your vivid writing made me smile, remembering how much happiness he brought to us.
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That, in a nutshell is what you always have to keep in mind with a dog. The chances are pretty good that you will outlive them. That just means that you need to appreciate them while you can. Because the love, well, it doesn’t get any better than that!
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This was beautiful thank you! I write a lot about letting go and this really helped me!
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I wish I could always practice this imagine technique — seeing Cooper there happy and healthy makes me know he’s in a better place. I don’t always feel that way about the people I’ve lost, though.
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Reblogged this on Sweet sharing and commented:
let go …move on …nice post
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Thank you for the reblog! And for visiting.
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my pleasure 🙂
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Reblogged this on Brainbrizzle's blog.
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Thank you!
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Well I’m just one big ball of mess right now. The love of a dog is unlike any other. Not like a child or a spouse, but special nonetheless. Thank you for sharing your story and your pain. Thinking of you and hope the heart heals fast! I’m sure Cooper is enjoying endless friends up there in doggy heaven!
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Thanks, Spice. Sorry to get you sniffling so early in the morning. I think that doggy love is as close to unconditional love as exists in the world. They love you no matter what, and you know that you will be stupid and take on a wild boar to protect them (from themselves)!
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Without a doubt! No wild boar would come between me and my dog!! Thanks for the reminder that they are in fact the greatest gifts we could ever have!
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awwwww. Lovely story. I held my breath hoping it didn’t end with Cooper getting attacked by the boar. RIP Cooper. I do love the dog stories.
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Thanks. I too was holding my breath during this story, hoping that she didn’t go after either of us! And dog stories are my favorites, too. They drive you crazy but there is so much love …
Thanks for stopping by.
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Hah, this is a nice piece of writing that accomplishes what it set out to do; and that is to tell a worthwhile story in a worthwhile way!
I’ll be following this blog from now on and I hope that you can find the time to check out my blog as well and perhaps follow me back!
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I followed your instructions, Harvey. To the letter!
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Reblogged this on mhadz daily and commented:
❤❤❤
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Thanks, Gorge!
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Great storytelling. Glad the boar was bored that day and you and Cooper were able to walk away unharmed.
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Me too! It was really scary, actually. She was enormous and solid. But folks who know more boarding facts have said they think she was an adolescent. The look she gave Cooper as she walked off makes me think they were probably right! She a Ted just like a teenager.
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