At first it seemed too hard to believe. The day before I had been on the phone with my dad (Coco was back in San Diego with my parents), and she was barking in the background, I spoke to her on the phone and she was fine.
Sometimes we are presented with unexpected tragedies and they do bring a world of hurt. However, I made a vow when I started this blog that this would not be a sounding board for rants or for anger or sadness. And I will hold true to that. My heart is breaking, but there is no better way to express love and care for someone lost than to celebrate the goodness of their life after they have passed. So, this blog post is dedicated to my dog and all of the warmth, laughter and joy that she brought into the life of my family, friends and me.
In late December of 2001, my sisters and I convinced our parents that we needed a dog. Not that we wanted one, but that our childhood would not be complete without a dog and that it was the duty of our parents to fulfill this standard base requirement. We went to the local shelter (go adoption!) and we looked at a number of pooches. Then, about a week into our search, my dad came home saying that he had found one that we were all going to love. I remember walking down the hall at the pound with dogs yipping and barking and running around playfully, all looking at me with eyes that said, "Choose me!" At the T section of the hall there was a pen with three puppies: a chow, a pit bull and this pathetic looking brown pup with a long tail and white paws. The pit bull was beating her up and she looked up at us through the gate with her big round eyes and we all knew. This was the one.
We put down our names for her immediately, but there was a one week waiting process. This pup had been left to be "held," but if no one claimed her in that span of time, she would be ours. The only trick was that if we were not at the pound at a certain time that afternoon, the pup would go to the next family in line. I remember telling my teachers at the end of school on that day, that I had to hike it out of there, so that we could go and get this perfect puppy. My dad, my sisters and I made it to the pound with a good half hour to spare. In my then eleven years of life, this was the longest half hour I'd ever withstood. But when it ended, we were the first in line. The pup with the white tip on her tail was ours. As my dad filled out the paper work, a lady approached him and said that if we decided that we didn't want the dog that we should give her a call. I guess that her family was second in line.
The way that CA adoption policy works, the dog has to be spayed before coming home, so we didn't get to bring Coco home for a couple of days. We picked her up from the vet a few days later. It was rainy, which was odd for San Diego. The pup, in a cardboard box, and I were put in the back of my dad's truck (not the bed), where we stared at each other the hole ride home.
It was not long at all until that dog and I were like "pees and carrots." She was my shadow. She followed me everywhere. That sixty-five pound dog and I slept together every night in my bed - her taking up most of it. Whenever I would get ready to sleep, she would sit at the side of the bed and watch for me. I'd climb in to claim my spot and then I'd pat on the side and say, "Hup-hup," and up she'd come. The reason for why I'm such a deep sleeper is probably because I was conditioned for most of my life to ignore the sounds of a loudly snoring dog sleeping on my arm. She would lay right beside me, cuddled up to my side. I'd put my right arm out straight and she would use it as a pillow. We'd sleep the whole night that way. It's strange to think that the next time that I go home, there won't be a dog to keep me warm at night.
My dad goes to work really early, so every day (even on the weekends) Coco would be fed bright and early. Dad would take her for her walks around the neighborhood and she would bark at her favorite dogs. But she was a very good dog and never bit anyone or anything, she didn't even go after Bella when I took the cat home this past winter.
My sister Amanda and her boyfriend, Tim, would care for the dog, also known as "The Face," when my parents would go on long trips. This past weekend, Tim sent us the below photo saying, "Guess who's sleeping on the floor."
Coco would also accompany my parents on occasion in the RV. She was a moto-enthusiast, just like the rest of my family.
Of all the members in my family, Coco had the most nicknames: the Face, Coco-face, babushka (it's Russian for 'grandma' because we'd occasionally put bandannas or scarves over her ears and she would look like an elder woman from the old country - absolutely no offense intended.), baby-dog. We called her Face because when we'd come home after going out to dinner, or if she hadn't seen one of us for a long time, while her entire body wagged from her happiness, a side of her face would scrunch up, like she was trying to smile, but couldn't and it was absolutely hilarious and super cute.
My grandma used to say that Coco had the most human eyes of any animal she had ever seen. It was true, while her eyes were caramel, when she looked at you, it was like she understood. Comforting us when we were sick. Always giving us a good laugh.
My mom put together a beautiful tribute to help us say goodbye to our baby.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yO1yPTFGDX0&feature=youtu.be
This hasn't been easy to write. I intentionally did it while at work, so that I would not be a sobbing mess, but still, I drew the attention of my colleagues and they were very understanding and supportive. I'm glad that they were around. It makes it a little easier to be surrounded by good company at a time like this.
I will always miss you and love you, Coco. You truly were the best dog anyone could have ever had.
Coco Faxon
2001 - 2013
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