There
hasn't been much lately I've been prepared for, and naturally, the
before-lunchtime call came a couple days earlier than expected.
"We
have completed the cremation for Coop."
Daaaaaaaaammit.
*Pow*
Later
that afternoon, I went down to Pet Plantation in Warner Robins - very nice
people - and picked him up, in a white wrapped container, with some paperwork,
and a certificate. He sat next to where he'd be, a big round metal dog
container with a paw on the lid as a handle, for the ride home.
Actually
putting him in there, and adding a picture collage sheet around the container,
that would have to wait a day or two. Yeah, kinda of putting off some finality,
and nope, it won't add closure.
Hell,
I still don't have closure from my dad dying on Sept. 15, 1987, or my mom on
Feb. 7, 1988 - and I had moved from home years earlier - or Grandma more than a
decade earlier, or, well, some of us don't actually ever get closure from
death, I guess.
There
have been kleenexes in about every room in the house, but a few less each day.
I walk by his room and look in, and there's a deep breath, and the nose
crinkles and all, and it's an adjustment to not hear the tail thumping or see
him laying on the bed on the floor - sooo goofy - with his head underneath the
couch, sound asleep.
Couple
folks have checked in, and the basic reality is that while the whole thing will
suck forever and yes, normalcy returns a little more each day.
The short-term lingering
chest-punch is just in those final three weeks where he wasn't himself at all,
that he couldn't have had a good stretch a time or two the final week - even
though we didn't fathom it was the final week - and more than just for a minute
or two. Just the "What'rewedoin what'rewedoin what'rewedoin?" face -
he was just so impish in being up for anything - and the active tail that
showed his happiness and brought me happiness.
Cancer
in this case was apparently impatient. At least it wasn't vindictive in
bringing serious pain to my puppydawg.
A
few weeks before this started, Vander had a good tuneup, with a solid ear
cleaning, and some meds for ears and skin and a cough of some weeks. He emerged
with a twinkle in his eye and more wag in his tail, and more affectionate. A
week later, Coop started going the other way.
One
week of perfect pooches.
At
some point, I'll start another round of organizing of the staggering number of
pictures and videos, and every so often, I'll make sure to have a full glass
and go through 'em. So Coop will always be Coop, and those last three weeks
will all but fade away. All but.
I
read one time that sometimes with two dogs, when one dies, it's somewhat
advisable for the surviving dog to see the deceased dog, for understanding and
closure. Vander and Coop weren't that tight, more from Vander's side, because
Coop was a tail-waggin face-lickin pal for everybody. Until their second
altercation, Coop would daily lick Vander's face, and ears, while Vander was on
the couch, and he'd give him that big brother "would you pleeeease go
away, brat?" look, and Coop would bounce on to whatever.
But
there was something good there, if not a Hallmark video. Alas, a few times a
day, Vander will walk into the living room and look around, or go down the
hallway and look in Coop's room, and then my room, and stand there for a
second. They weren't best buds, but it was good that they shared a house, and
some good times, and some face and ear licks, and just the life.
It'll
just be Vander and me until it's not Vander and me, and we might re-visit the
dog park (when it's quiet) and maybe socialize a little more, and our walks
will last longer, and he'll no doubt enjoy being the sole focus of rubs,
snuggles, talk, and treats - even though he never went without any of any - again.
There's
something to that, Vander having been a bait dog, and being found by a team of
phenomenal people and so fixed up and ending up with me- our adoption
anniversary is Aug. 15 - and then going through those two damn January nights,
and emerging again as such a special pooch who deserves nothing but tailwaggin
and a rubbed belly the rest of his days.
Man
oh man, these puppydawgs. For the hound humans, the puppy people, the dog dudes
and dudettes, they got us. There will be tears, but man, the smiles and laughs
and astounding joy are forever.
