A dog named mini-Cooper

We are having a howling good time here at our house since last Thursday when Cooper joined our pack.

In January, we adopted Charlie Brown, the last puppy in a litter of eight that was rescued in Tennessee with their mama.  The brood was nicknamed “Kate Plus Eight” by the rescue agency,  and a wonderful foster mom took in all nine dogs just three days before Christmas, 2011.  The puppies were born on 11/11/11 which makes them special already.  Charlie Brown was the last to go, we can’t figure out why nobody chose him before we came along, except that he was meant to be ours, thank Dog.

After many months of puppy-ness (we dubbed Charlie with the nickname “Devil Dog”!), I received an email on July 2nd from the foster mom, who I had remained in touch with, along with the other 8 adoptive families.  [I should mention that even Kate, the puppies’ mother, was adopted before Charlie was!].  The email said that the runt of the litter, “mini-Cooper” was being returned to rescue because the family who adopted him originally was moving overseas and was unable to take Cooper with them, and did any of us want a second dog from the same litter?  If not, would we help spread the word, maybe a close friend or family member would want to adopt him.  And “oh by the way” he has an injured leg.

To this day, we do not know how he injured his leg, and it has become painfully clear that we will not ever know.  But dogs live in the moment, and the concern about what happened in the first place is only a human concern.  Take a look at any dog, and you’ll see that they don’t dwell on, or try to figure out, what happened in the past.  We should learn from them.

On top of their moving overseas, the family was unable to afford treatment for the leg which had multiple fractures and separation at the shoulder.  Cooper had been confined to a crate in lieu of treatment, we do not know for how long.

It was at this point that I began to become embroiled in the situation, and was on the phone and email with the foster mom and adoption coordinator from that day on, and throughout the rest of July and August.  At least ten of my friends, when I both emailed and posted on Facebook “anyone interested in adopting Cooper?”, replied “YOU have to adopt him!  He belongs with you.”  These were separate, distinct replies, with no one person talking to the other, conspiring to convince us to adopt him!  I tentatively told rescue we were interested.

The foster mom drove three hours to retrieve Cooper from his original adoptive family, and then spent several weeks running back and forth to multiple vet appointments at various locations.  It was eventually determined that the leg was useless, and any restorative surgery would be “experimental” at best.  To use the words of the senior surgeon who operated on the dog, “I wouldn’t put my own dog through that.”  And so, it was decided that Cooper would become a Tripawd.

A couple friends and I visited Cooper at the foster home, before the operation.  He was so relaxed, for a 9-month-old pup, it was hard to believe.

We brought Charlie Brown and Cooper together for one last play date, and to get reacquainted before he turned up with only three legs.  They had a blast.  I found out that the two of them had been the last two puppies, along with their mama, to be adopted out — so, they had gotten the unique opportunity, of all the littermates, to play one-on-one together as little puppies.

In mid-August, Cooper’s right front leg was amputated.  The hospital set up a post-op web cam and the foster mom was able to look in on him throughout most of the night while he was in recovery.  He was sent home with her two days later, and began a two-week recovery and readjustment period.  From the moment he got home, he seemed relieved that the dangling leg was gone, and did not miss a beat.  People began to say we humans should all take a lesson from him.  The word “special” was over-used, and substituted with the word “inspirational”.

About 14 days later, the staples came out, and we were given the go-ahead to sign the papers, pay the adoption fee, and come pick up Cooper.  Admittedly, we were nervous.  We’ve never had 3 dogs before.  After raising Hector and Hobie, who were just a year apart in age, I said “never again” would I have two dogs so close in age.  Hector passed away very suddenly exactly a year ago, August 28, 2011.  Hobie, nearly 13 years old, is slow and arthritic, and sleeps 23 hours a day.  Charlie Brown is the devil dog!  We feared Hobie would be “mad” at us.  My husband feared it would be too much stress on me, the primary caregiver.  But I said no, the animals are my stress-buster, they make me feel better.  I have fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome, so I have to be very careful not to overdo “it” — whatever “it” might be.  We were concerned that our house is all stairways, and would he be able to manage stairs?  Where would he sleep?  Our house is tiny.

On August 23rd, 2012, almost exactly a year since we lost our beloved hound dog, Hector, I took the afternoon off from work and went to pick up Cooper.   The introduction to Hobie went off without a hitch.  What, exactly, were we worried about?  Cooper joining our pack was like someone waving a magic wand and pronouncing, “Abra cadabra!  Your home will now be quiet, peaceful and tranquil.”  It was as if Cooper said to us, “I’m here now.  Everyone can calm down.”  His presence restored order to chaos.  He balanced out the pack, instead of adding to it.  He takes up hardly any room, despite the fact that both he and Charlie (and Hobie) are big dogs.   He found his place to sleep, on the couch, thank you very much.  He zooms up the stairs three steps at a time… it’s easier for him that way.  If I throw a ball for Charlie, Cooper runs just as fast after it as Charlie does.  Hobie said “Thank Dog!”  Charlie doesn’t beat up on him anymore!  The first day or two, going DOWN the stairs was a bit scary, and a couple times Cooper simply did not come down.  I had to fashion a sling and use cookies to assist and coax him.  Now he goes down the stairs quite well.  I think he took a cue from arthritic Hobie, who sidles up to the wall and leans on it to guide himself down.  Who knew that Hobie’s new-found fear of stairs (which began about four years ago) would be the precursor to us having a three-legged dog?  There are no coincidences.

While none of us are thrilled with what happened (mysteriously) to Cooper’s leg, we are so grateful that he has come into our lives.  In less than a week, he has changed everything, for the good.