Small white and black dog sitting on a blanket and looking at the camera

To my Coco bean,

I wasn’t one who adopted you. I wasn’t the one to bring you home. I wasn’t the one to give you your name. But despite all this, I like to think you adopted me as your doggy dad. When I first met you, you were intensely excited to see your mommy, and equally intense against me being in your house.

You were a little dog, but I could tell immediately that you were a strong and opinionated puff. I heard you were scared of men, but fortunately for me, I had some practice working on getting sensitive dogs to trust me through my time raising Apollo. I remember it took me roughly six months to gain your trust. It started small, I’d feed you treats but you wouldn’t take them unless I was about 2 feet away from them. I slowly brought them closer over months, and eventually you’d sit in my lap while I gave them to you.

But it wasn’t all me, I think your kinship with Apollo did a lot of the work for me too. You two were buddies, and it was sweet seeing how much you two clicked, from seeing you two sit together on the dog bed, to the very first “zigzags” you two did going to the dog park, and even your partnered beach zoomies. And through perseverance and your trust, you let me into your gentle, warm, and loving heart, with limitless hand and foot licks.

I remember when I first started gaining your trust, you would sit on your Mommy’s lap because you didn’t want to sit on mine, but you’d lean over to my lap and lick my hands. But you didn’t just do it if my hands were available, you demanded them. You would grumble at me if I had them in my pockets, or you would use your nose to pry them off the couch or my leg to get to licking them. Eventually you started cuddling up with me and I got to experience first hand how supremely comforting and special your cuddles were.

I look back at our time together and I think we had a lot of good memories. From your beach zoomies, to you jumping in people’s boot prints in the snow, to the variety of cheeses we shared with you. And then kids came along. At first, I felt like maybe that was going to impact you negatively, but you were always such a stoic puff. And you were so funny when we first brought home Azalea. You were so intense, and I think it was more of a protective quality in you than jealousy or aggressiveness, because you demanded to be around our baby at all times. You sat there and gazed upon her and smelled her for hours everyday. It started to feel like it wasn’t our baby, but your baby.

I think you managed to have a good and fulfilling time even with young kids around. I think their arrival was met with the arrival of your senior years. A natural slowdown that also needed cuddles and increased time at home over the beach and adventures. I’m glad you were here this year when we started getting out more though. We got to go back to Newport. We discovered Bandon together. Even our last trip to Cannon Beach together. I could tell at the end of that trip that it was taxing you. You still had fun parts, but you were wiped out when we got to our lodging.

It wasn’t much longer beyond that trip that your condition started becoming clearer to me. I had just gotten home from picking up the girls. Like usual, you came running up, excitedly greeting all of us at the door. I was getting the girls a snack when you wanted to go outside. I heard you barking at our neighbor, so I called out to you to come in. You were starting your little prance you’d do in the grass heading back in when it looked like you were getting wobbly and then collapsed. I ran to get my shoes and went straight outside to scoop you up in my arms. You were so cold and still. You barely moved your head but you looked up at me. I held you for about an hour. You were grunting and sighing. At the time I thought it was a seizure that managed to break through your meds. I didn’t know that this was the beginning of your struggle.

Like I said earlier, you were such a stoic puff. You got to resting and barking at people outside again. You got excited when Mommy walked in. You were curious about what crumbs of food the kids were dropping off the table. You fought through my birthday. You fought through Thanksgiving. I didn’t know you were fighting until the day before we had to say goodbye, and I didn’t know how hard you were fighting until that same day. I had wanted to believe you were recovering.

I would have been so tired if I were fighting like that for over a week, through the pain and abnormalities brought on by your condition. As I was holding you for the last time, I was thinking to myself that I don’t know where you were drawing that strength from. You hadn’t eaten for so long. I wanted you to know that it was ok to rest. And that I love you.

My dearest little Coco. My little bean, Coco nugget, and Coco nut. My rough puff, tough puff, and tap dancer. My prancy princess. I love you. I’ll love you forever. I’ll miss you always. I’ll cherish every memory, every photo, and every story of you. I’ll miss your grumbles, your barks, and your kisses. I’ll miss your cuddles, your intense stares, and your sploots. I’ll miss your “bully-puffing”, your carrot obsession, and door greetings. I’ll miss them because you blessed us with them. I’ll hold those blessings in my heart and my mind, for as long as I remain. I hope you find Apollo on the Rainbow Bridge, and you two can zigzag together as he shows you across it.

I love you Coco

In mourning,
Your adopted doggy dad, Corey.