Pines On My Mind: January 2021

Handsome little man

It's been over 6 years since I've had to write one of these things. I guess there's no better place to start than at the beginning. Back in 2004, I was living in Rochester, MN. I had bought my first house at the beginning of that year, and was working at the Mayo Clinic as a Registered Nurse on a general care floor. I had 2 dogs, Lady and Brie. Lady was a cattle dog mix, and Brie was a pug. For reasons even I can't begin to fathom, I felt I needed a pug friend for Brie. I started working with some rescues, and after a few disappointments, I decided to get a puppy. At this time, I don't even know if Craigslist was a thing, and so I was searching the online classifieds for pug puppies from newspapers all over the state. It was a very laborious process, to say the least. I finally found an ad for pug puppies in a newspaper out of Duluth, MN, which was about 5 hours from where I lived. Turns out the puppy was actually located right outside International Falls, MN, which is basically Canada, and also 8 hours from where I lived. I was undeterred. The woman who had the puppies explained that she had recently adopted a rescued female pug who hadn't yet been spayed, and that this batch of puppies was an "oops" litter. Apparently she had a friend with a young male pug, and neither of them thought that he was old enough to impregnate her female. Well, he was. And along came a litter of pugs. The thing I appreciated the most about her is that she asked me a lot of questions about pugs. Did I knew their breed-specific medical issues, did I have a fenced yard, did I have other dogs for the puppy to play with, what did I do for a job and how long would the puppy be alone, on average. This was truly a person who cared about where her puppy was going to go, and wanted the new home to be a success.

My three loves...Brie, Ladybird, and Cooper

So I drove all the way up to International Falls to get this puppy. This little black ball of fluff with huge brown eyes and tiniest little curly tail. I was immediately in love. He was so little that I could put him inside my shirt to keep him warm, and his little head would poke out right under my chin. The owner had been calling him Beaner, because he looked like a little black bean. I had been going back and forth between Eddie and Cooper as potential names for my new puppy, but I thought Beaner was also kind of cute, so I decided to go with that name. That is, until a few days later when I was in the breakroom for lunch with a bunch of my coworkers and told them that I had decided to name the puppy Beaner. From the end of the table came the exclamation, "You've got to be fucking kidding me. Beaner??" So I stammered something about maybe sounding like a pothead because my brother was always talking about how you have to get the beaners out of the weed before you smoke it, but she interrupted me and basically yelled for all to hear, "Beaner is a racist term for a Mexican!" I was shocked. This is how white-girl I truly was. I had never, ever heard the word Beaner as being a description for a Mexican. To this I asked, "Why are they called Beaners?" because I truly didn't know. "Because they eat beans...duh" was the explanation I was given by this woman at the end of the table (ironic that I was the one being made to feel like a racist in this situation). She was from southern California and never wasted any time telling everyone that; apparently being from that locale also made her an expert about everything (case in point, she pronounced all the S's in Des Moines, even after being corrected; she also withheld Morphine from a hospice patient because she didn't want him to become addicted. Sooo...she was basically an ignorant idiot and a terrible nurse). But I wasn't about to argue with her and sat there shamefully eating my lunch along with all my other coworkers who were also learning about the term Beaner for the very first time. It was an honest mistake. Out of defiance, I almost kept the name, but then I remembered that I lived in a mixed-race neighborhood and standing outside yelling Beaner would probably be ill-received. And truly, I didn't want to be one of those idiots who name their dogs a racist or inappropriate word because they think it's funny/ironic/whatever. So, it was between Eddie and Cooper. I couldn't get the phrase Hanging with Mr. Cooper out of my head, so Cooper it was. It should be noted that I'd never seen the show 'Hanging with Mr. Cooper,' and didn't know that Mr. Cooper was, in fact, a black man and Cooper was a black dog...so apparently I didn't escape some racial ambiguity in the end).

Empty water bottles were come of his favorite toys

I had barely had Cooper a year before I started travel nursing. Initially I just took the pugs with me, as there were a lot of weight restrictions (most only allowed dogs under 25 pounds; Lady was 50) and 2-dog limits in the apartments I was renting. Lady stayed with my parents for those first couple years. I felt bad leaving her behind, but the pugs were so bonded that I didn't want to split them up, and I didn't want to leave them behind, either. So off we went. Cooper has lived in and visited more states than most people I know. He's been to the Atlantic Ocean, the Gulf of Mexico, the Rocky Mountains, the Appalachian Mountains, the Green Mountains of Vermont. He's swam in lakes, he's paddle boarded, he's summited mountains. That little dude had quite the adventurous life. For most of you in Flagstaff, you only knew him as a grumpy little old man, but that little dog used to tear around like a crazed tasmanian devil. He used to run circles around me and I couldn't catch him. He could jump onto every piece of furniture and could even jump over baby gates. He and Brie used to chase each other around for hours; his signature move was diving under the bed and army crawling to the middle to wait out Brie, as by the time she got frustrated enough to crawl under there after him, he was already out and down the hallway, barking all the way. I used to laugh so hard at their shenanigans. He adored little kids, to the point that he would get so excited and wiggly and snorty with his wide open mouth that he would typically scare them away.

At the top of Pinnacle Mountain in Little Rock, Arkansas

Cooper was always an odd little dog. He seemed to always know when I was messing with him and would become visibly disgruntled about it. He would sigh loudly just to let me know how unimpressed he was with my attempts to be funny at his expense. He loved fruits and vegetables. He would do anything and everything for a cherry tomato, a carrot, or a piece of popcorn. I'm actually allergic to dog saliva, so I wasn't in the habit of letting dogs lick me. He picked up on this, and instead of trying to give me kisses, he would put his muzzle up against my cheek and open and close his mouth, the closest thing he could get to giving me a kiss. I always found that to be so very cute and endearing. Every now again he would give me the teeniest, tiniest little lick right on the tip of my nose. He always pranced when he walked. When we were out on walks, he looked like a miniature percheron trotting away, particularly when I had him and Brie hooked up with the double leash to their harnesses...like two little draft horses pulling me along. He was always the biggest dog in the yard, no matter where we happened to be or who else happened to be there. I remember he took down a malamute at the dog park once...he launched himself like a little black pug missile at that dog and knocked it right over. I was so in shock by the whole scene that I just stood there with my mouth agape, and then had to suppress a laugh at the malamute's owner as she threatened me with vet bills if her dog was injured (it wasn't, and perhaps maybe it learned a little lesson about trying to mount little dogs at the dog park). That was, however, Cooper's last visit to the dog park. He screamed through his baths. Just the most terrible sound ever. He hated to be brushed and he hated having his nails trimmed.

The infamous malamute, immediately prior to pug missile deployment

Over the course of his life, Cooper had several nicknames. In no particular order: Little Buddy, Coop, Coop-a-loop, Mighty Coopah, Duder, The Buddy, Montenegro, Coop-a-Troop, Li'l Man, The Grumpus, Little Fuzz Butt, Squish, Squishy. There might be more...he was called all kinds of things by all the people he met throughout the course of his life.

Cooper on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon

Pugs don't stay as physically fit for as long as most other breeds I've encountered. I think Cooper's last long walk happened in 2014. We took him up to Lockett Meadow the day after Brie died and we hiked almost to the top where the trail meets Waterline Road. That's a long way for a little guy. He was 10 years old at the time, and he definitely struggled on the way back down and had to be carried. After that the walks were much shorter, usually just around the block. We took him camping with us a lot, and he was a funny little camping dog. You don't see too many pugs in campgrounds, but he loved exploring and smelling (and peeing on) all the things. He loved going places with us in the camper van, and had his own little laundry basket to sleep in while we were driving. I think it gave him a sense of security to be all snuggled in like that. Cooper's last camping trip was to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon this past fall. I'd like to think he enjoyed it, but he had lost his hearing and most of his eyesight by then, and was mostly content to just nap.

The little camping dog in Madera Canyon, Arizona

It's funny looking back at old photos of him, seeing how black his face used to be, how physically capable he used to be. It's weird how much his face changed through the years...not just the ever encroaching gray hair, but his muzzle became more droopy, his eyes became less bright, his ears and tail became less perky, and his overall stance became more feeble and frail. I remember noticing that he was slowing down, but most of the changes were so gradual that it just kind of became the natural progression of things. The last few years I used to jokingly remark with disdain that he wasn't a cuddler. He hadn't been very snuggly for the past few years, I think mostly because the arthritis he had in his spine and his hips made it hard for him to find a comfortable position, but as I look back in photos, he definitely used to be both a snuggler and a lap dog. He and Brie used to pig pile on top of me, and that was their favorite place to be. It's funny how quickly I had forgotten that about him. Maybe it's a little bit of a blessing that we don't mourn the way things used to be as we adjust to the new normal.

Simon wrangling all the dogs on Fort Myers Beach, Florida

That being said, I remember each decline like it was yesterday. I remember when he wasn't able to go on walks anymore. I remember when he could no longer jump onto the bed, and then it was the couch. I remember when he became too unsteady to use the pet steps and we had to lift him on and off the bed and the couch. I remember when he stopped playing with toys. I remember when he lost his hearing, because he no longer tilted his head when I was talking to him. The loss of the head-tilt was devastating. I remember when it happened to Brie too; they could tell I was talking to them because they were watching me, but they weren't grabbing any of my words anymore. I remember when I felt that first little nubbin of his spine as he started to lose muscle tone to the arthritis. I remember when his back started to arch all the time. I remember when he started to limp as the arthritis moved to his hips, and then after that to his shoulders. I remember how he started to sleep more during the day, and I remember how deeply he slept after he lost his hearing. I remember when he started to lose his vision, how he would stand at the threshold of the hallway if the light was off because he couldn't see well enough to confidently wander to the bedroom. I remember putting a nightlight in the bathroom so he could see to find his water dish. I remember all of those things. I remember him getting old, and along the way I forgot what it was like for him to be young.

Morning cuppa at Kick Stand Coffee in Flagstaff, Arizona

I never thought he would live as long as he did. Brie died when she was 12, and Cooper was 10 at the time. I thought maybe we had about 2-4 years left with him, but he surprised us all and just kept on kicking. Luckily he had always been a healthy young pug, which carried on into his older years. He lost his hearing, he mostly lost his vision, he lost the ability to jump up on things, he lost the ability to go on walks. He lost so much these last few years, but he never seemed unhappy. Grumpy, absolutely, but never unhappy. As long as he had me, his treats, and a comfortable place to lay, he was content.

I adore the little smile on his face in this photo

On his last two days of life, I did his two most hated things to him...I gave him a bath and I brushed him. And did that little turd fight me every second of it. He had always loathed bath time, which is funny because when he was young, he used to jump into the shower with me all the time. It was funny seeing him tearing around the bathtub, seemingly confused about how he had gotten there, and perplexed as to how to get out of that situation. Had I known he had so little time left, I probably wouldn't have bothered with the bathing or the brushing, but he was getting a little stinky, he had had an accident that he had lain in, and we were going out of town and I didn't want to leave a smelly, sheddy little dog for the dog sitters.

Post-bath death stare from under his favorite blanket

I'm trying so hard not to feel guilty about the fact that I helped him pass the day before we went on a trip...I didn't want it to feel rash, and I wanted myself to feel more ready. The thing is, despite telling myself I was ready, I don't think I was ever going to be fully ready. Years ago when he started declining, I knew first and foremost that I didn't want him to suffer; this was very, very important to me. The last week of his life he seemed markedly different; more anxious, more uncomfortable, his stance changed to the point that he didn't seem comfortable sitting or standing, he was pacing more than usual, and he even seemed to have trouble getting comfortable while lying down. It took me a week of going back and forth to finally make the decision to help him pass. My worst fear was that he was going to decline to the point that my dog sitters would have to take action on my behalf, and that's the last thing I wanted for them or for him. It has always been very important to me that when it comes to my dogs and their time to pass, it has to be me. I owe them everything but I especially owe them that. When I really stopped to think about things, I had to ask myself if I would be coming to a different conclusion if I wasn't going on a trip. And the answer I kept coming back to was no, no I wouldn't be doing anything different...it was just his time, and this decision had been made long ago. Actually, I would have done one thing different. I would have planned ahead and had the at-home vet come and help him pass here at home. That's the only thing I would have done differently. The at-home vet wasn't available to come out on the day I made the decision, and I didn't want to wait any longer because I could tell that it was time. In the end, it was an incredibly hard decision, but as his person it was one I had to make, and so I did. Cooper has never really had issue with going to the vet, and quite honestly, he rather enjoyed going to the vet so he could pick fights with the other dogs in the waiting area. He was such a tough guy right up until the end. The vet we use has a 'hospice room' that has soft lighting, a couch, treats, etc. It's actually a nice quiet place to spend some time with him to say goodbye. He sat on my lap the whole time while we reminisced about all things Cooper, which was unusual for him given his disdain for snuggling, but I think he knew, and I think he was okay with it. I think he was ready.

Camping at Pine Grove campground outside Flagstaff, Arizona

You know, we used to joke about all the things we were going to do with his body after he had passed. Stuff him and put him in a pet bed so it was like he was still there; make a rug, a purse, a fur stole, or a hat out of his pelt; make a key chain out of his tail; get his ashes and mix them with paint to make a painting. We used to laugh about these things because although it was kind of morbid, it was preparing us for the inevitable. In the end we didn't do any of those things. I had him cremated and I elected not to get his ashes. I did, however, find out that that the pet crematorium dumps the ashes along a forest service road north of the Walnut Canyon area, which is a beautiful area in the woods. Apparently there's a grove of oak trees there that turn bright red in the fall, some speculate due to the ashes mixing into the soil. Whether any of that is true, it's a really nice thought to think of all my little buddies giving back to nature in a way for all of us to enjoy. The vet's office will have made a paw print for me, and I'll go pick that up once it stops snowing. I did grab a little ball of his fur from the brushing and put it in an empty pill bottle. I don't yet know what I'll do with it, if anything, but for now that's all I have left of him.

Probably my most favorite picture of Cooper and I

For almost 19 years of my life, I was the girl with the pugs. It became as much a part of my identity as talking about poop, my refusal to dye my hair, and my penchant for all things Lululemon. I have so much pug stuff...shirts, sweaters, leggings, photos, paintings, books, magnets. Being a pug person is who I am. But now I'm not. I didn't just lose my little buddy as he took his last breath, I lost a part of myself too. So now I sit here and I wonder, Who am I? Where do I go from here? How do I go from here? I have all these moments...moments of good, moments of bad; moments of laughter, moments of sad. They come at me without warning and I'm still working through it. The house is so quiet without him here. I didn't realize how noisy Cooper was until he was gone. He was always skittering about; if he wasn't looking for me he was checking his food dish to see if any treats had materialized in it since the last time he checked, or he was skittering to get a drink of water, or he was skittering to the back door hoping that we would notice and let him out to go to the bathroom. If he wasn't skittering, he was napping. When he was napping, he was snoring. If he wasn't napping or skittering, he was next to me on the couch...not snuggling, god forbid, but close enough so that he knew I was there. I was his true north...if he knew where I was, everything was right in his world.

Pug pig pile

I moved his bowl out of the kitchen and just about lost it. I picked up all the pieces of food on the floor because he used to just rustle around in the dish to take the treats in his mouth and spit the rest of the food all over the place. How he managed that with less than 10 teeth, I'll never know. It's funny, a few years back before we realized that we had a mouse in the house, I would find dog food in the weirdest of places, and for a while there, I thought that it was Cooper. I remember being so confused as to why he was dropping mouth fulls of food into my shoes. Little did we know...hahaha! The pet bed next to my desk sits empty, and I cry almost every time I look at it, but I just can't put it away because every time I take something away that was his, I feel like I'm erasing him. I guess I'm just not ready to accept yet that he's no longer here. I find bits of his hair on my things, and I can just see in my mind all the last places where he was. Sometimes I think I'm all done crying, that I'm able to just be okay with the fact that he brought me so much love and happiness, and then I see that pet bed and it starts all over again. But I can't move it yet. I just can't. He used to lay on the bath mat when I would shower, and I'd have to be careful not to step on him when I got out of the tub. He won't be there anymore. Sometimes he would push the bathroom door open while I was on the toilet, and he would just stand there and stare at me as if I should have been doing something else with my time. He always had to know where I was, all the time. What's ironic is that in the last year or so, I always had to know where he was too. Because he couldn't see or hear, and he was a frail little old man, I felt this need to always know where he was to make sure that he was comfortable and safe, that he hadn't gotten shut in a bedroom or gotten lost in a corner somewhere.

Being carried back to the car after the long hike at Lockett Meadow

It's funny how a pair of pants lying on the floor or a little blanket rumpled up in the pet bed can look like him when I'm going about my business and catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye. Or when I get back from taking Kiki for a walk I have this random thought about where he might be laying when we get in the house. He had his few favorite places where he would wait for us to come home. Being the creature of habit that I was, I would check all of his favorite places to see where he was. Sometimes I would wake him up to give him pets, otherwise I would let him slumber on and he would wake up on his own time, seemingly taken aback over the fact that we had materialized out of no where. Over time those thoughts will diminish; I'll stop looking for him and the pants on the floor will just be pants on the floor. Kiki has already claimed his favorite blanket (which was actually a rather expensive Rumpl blanket that I had bought for myself but was letting Cooper have because it was his very favorite), so I guess maybe that blanket will forever just be a dog blanket. The things we do for our pets.

Such a little cutie!!

I think one of the most powerful parts of this whole dying process, was my friend Eli saying to Cooper, "Thank you, Cooper" as he passed away. In my sadness I hadn't thought about all the things Cooper had brought into my life that I was thankful for. It was the perfect sentiment and the perfect goodbye to that little bugger who had given me so very much, in truth he had given me everything he had to give. So many memories, so many laughs, so many opportunities for learning. There are so many things that could have been said, but I think 'Thank You' was the very best of all.

So, I'll end with that, Thank You, Cooper. Thanks for everything.