The rest of the story.

The one thing I think we all do is to take things in our daily life for granted. Cooper, as far as our family was concerned, would always be around. Despite the loss of her sight, and the struggle she had just to get her hips to allow her to get up from a prone position, she still went through the daily routine, albeit at a much slower, and quite dwindling pace. We tried to be patient, but we were always in a hurry to get somewhere. Cooper tried to keep up but it was getting harder and harder. And even though we'd say, "this is probably the last time she'll do this" and "this is the last time she may do that," we didn't stop to realize the finality of our words. I think we just couldn't fathom what was really happening to our beloved pet.

'Friday the Thirteenth' turned out to be about as devilish a day that I could remember. A host of trivial, annoying and minor mishaps kept me from feeling like I'd accomplished anything that day. But little did I know, that it was the beginning of an even more trying week for Coop. The next evening, Mike and I went out to dinner with our neighbors, Chris and Rita. Normally we'd invite them to come back to the with us, but that evening, Mike wanted to watch a game, and I had two freelance jobs waiting for me. When we walked in the door, we were greeted by a scent that almost sent us back outside again. Cooper not only had an accident, she had it all the way around the dining room table--the last resort spot when she was stuck inside. Of course she felt really bad emotionally, but, what we didn't know, was how badly she was doing physically. That signaled the beginning of her withdrawl from nourishment.

In the next couple of days, she seemed disoriented at times, and we couldn't get her to eat or drink. We were struck with the realization that things were probably not going to get better. Thursday, January 19 is a day I won't soon forget. Cooper was so weak that day, Mike had to carry her in from her beloved outside when he got home from school. Seeing how bad she was, that evening we called her surrogate parents, Barb and Allen and told them to come see her for the last time. She was visibly in pain, her breathing labored. She struggled through the evening finally taking her last breath around 11pm. It was a bittersweet goodbye: I was happy for the end of her struggle and heartbroken for the loss of such a loving, selfless and devoted friend.

What helped me go to sleep that night was thinking about where Cooper was going. I imagine she's in this HUGE field, full of light-footed rabbits and wiley squirrels. There are great things to smell and great spots for her to 'water.' There's probably a meaty bone around every corner and a nice cool breeze. Good for you Coop; you deserve it.