The Shallow End

And Then There Was One

Yesterday marked the end of Cocoa's life. He was only 9 years old.

Cocoa was never the favorite, privileged one. He spent many years of his life as an Outside Dog, sleeping in the garage at night with several other dogs we owned at the time (who have all since been farmed out to good homes, except for Smokey, who has always been the favorite, privileged one). Cocoa was a country bumpkin, not the smartest one in the bunch. We always said that if dogs wore clothes, Cocoa would wear Big Mac overalls, with the sides unbuttoned. Cocoa never went with us on road trips. Instead, while we took Smokey on trips to the East Coast and the West Coast and all points in between, Cocoa preferred to stay home to guard the fort. The car made him nervous. All he knew was the country life. Even the occasional outing to the vet was filled with quivers and heavy panting, as he faced a world he knew very little about. But he was a lovable dog, a good doctor to his brother and a good protector when he needed to be. Or at least he put on a good front. He never bit anyone, but he growled and barked if a stranger dared walk onto our property. But he liked the rural mail carrier. She always had dog treats for him. And Cocoa loved food. He was big for an Aussie, 100 pounds at one point. The doctor said he was the equivalent of a 400 pound man, but we preferred to think of him as big boned. Even on a restricted diet, he was still about 90 pounds. But they make Big Mac overalls in all sizes.

A couple years ago, when we were down to just two dogs, we cleaned him up and brought him into the house to become an Inside Dog. He quickly adapted to the spoiled life, sleeping on the bed and the couch, and making himself at home wherever he pleased. He tore up several doors and some drywall in the garage scratching to get back in if we inadvertently left him out for too long after that, making it clear that he definitely preferred this to his former life. And who can blame him?

The End happened so suddenly and yet, we somehow knew it was coming. We never really learned what was wrong with him, but he was in serious pain and struggling to hang on to life, curling up in the corners of the house, licking his stomach and legs constantly, straining to go to the bathroom but leaking urine and feces to the point where I had to put him outside all night, on what would become his last night alive...I feel so bad about that...if I'd only known, I would have made him a special place to spend his last night. Poor guy. When we took him to the vet again, for the third Friday in a row, they could only tell us (without running many more expensive tests to possibly confirm what we think we knew) that he was in a lot of pain and wasn't going to get better. I called my husband from work and asked him to talk to the doctor and make a decision about what to do. Ultimately, the decision was made to put him out of his misery rather than bring him home to an uncertain but painful future. My husband said that his eyes were gray instead of the nice golden brown you see in the picture. He had seemingly lost his will to live. It was a very tough decision, but in the end we hope it was the right one.

We'll spread his ashes on our property so he can continue to guard and protect us.

Rest in peace, Cocoa. We'll meet you at the Rainbow Bridge.

Labels: In Memorium, The Animals

posted by Gwynne @ 10:04 AM