Cocoa

Somewhere around fifteen years ago a young man moved into a house with his brother. The idea was to share the rent. The brother, inspired by this exciting new development, decided that this house needed a dog. The brother went to someone who bred Chow Chows on a farm, and bought a puppy for a modest discount – for there were no breeding papers.

The puppy was well under twelve inches total from her chocolate nose to her poopy little tail. Her fur was softer than any plush toy ever made, and was the warm color of Coco Butter. Her ears pointed forward with unending curiosity and her eyes were like little dark, honest glass buttons, framed by unusually long eyelashes set deep into her furry face.

The man’s nephew named the puppy Cocoa.

A point needs to be made here that the man hated the name “Cocoa” because it reminded him of the German Shepherd Husky the neighbors had where he grew up. That dog barked all night, would knock over anyone in his orbit and nip whenever he had a chance. That dog was generally, all in all, a pretty damned unpleasant experience. No, to the man, this little fur ball should carry the name Bernadette. He didn’t know why, but to him, she looked like a “Bernadette.” But the man kept the name Cocoa because he loved his nephew dearly, and enjoyed the pride the nephew felt for giving the pooch her name.

As luck would have it, in a swirl of chaos, the brother moved out nearly as fast as he moved in - which was often the brother’s way. The man found himself standing in the living room of this house, looking down at this creamy little poof happily panting at his feet. Cocoa would now be his.

Very quickly the man found out that to have a puppy as a house mate was not an easy endeavor – especially when gone from the house for fourteen hours a day. Countless times the man would return home exhausted in the a.m. hours to find shredded shoes or a completely destroyed couch or the vast expanse of the white tiled living room floor peppered with tiny sooty paw prints…which ultimately led the man, often heaving with rage, to one completely blackened puppy looking up at him happily, as if trying to say, “Look! I found the fireplace!” The puppy would watch half-guiltily as the man swore a blue streak while the precious hours meant for sleep were spent mopping and cleaning and throwing destroyed items away. But the man never thought of giving Cocoa up. Not even once. For the man had fallen in love with the animal. In fact, they both found that they needed each other. Many more hours meant for sleep were spent wrestling around, playing tug of war, and conducting general human/canine mayhem. "Cocoa" wasn't such a bad name afterall. Fate had brought the two together for better and worse. It became the man’s resolve to keep them together no matter what fate had in store next.

When the time came for the man to move he faced quite a dilemma. He could only afford to rent bachelor style apartments where there was no room for animals of any kind. Over the next few years, with the help of his girlfriend, the man managed to convince landlords that the dog would only be spending nights in the apartment, during the day the dog would be elsewhere. What kind of dog? Oh, you know…not really sure…mixed breed, maybe…who knows? With some effective fudging, the landlords usually agreed.

And where did Cocoa go during the day? Over to the girlfriend’s house. Now, never in the girlfriend’s life had she been allowed to have a pet. Her father had refused all of those years because he had too many heartbreaking memories of dogs from his own childhood that had been poisoned by enemies back on the rough streets of Taizhong. So Cocoa’s arrival was something very new to that household. Every day, the man would drop Cocoa off at the girlfriend’s house, where she would play in the small backyard, chase possums that would skitter across the fence, and be fed dried squid and cupped handfuls of sweetened coffee by the girlfriend’s father. Within the flutter of a heartbeat, Cocoa became not just the man’s dog, but the family’s dog as well.

Soon, the man and the girlfriend got married and the man moved into an even bigger house with her and her family. Daily, even more relatives would come over to visit the grandparents, and ultimately, dote on Cocoa.

On car trips, Cocoa now had to sit in the back seat. Before, she was ever the unqualified co-pilot. At drive-thrus Cocoa would give the window attendant a sound piece of her mind. At least until the bag of food was handed over. But now the wife sat shotgun, and Cocoa happily sat in the backseat, leaning against the grain of every corner the car took. The three took several small road trips. To the beach. To the snow. And Cocoa was glad to be on board for anything.

Cocoa grew fast. Her poofy fur turned into a royal lion’s mane. However her eyes remained kind and her nose adopted the long angles that belonged to a golden retriever. Suspicions started to be raised that maybe this dog wasn’t a purebred after all. But it didn’t matter. Because honestly, who is a purebred these days? And who’d want to be, for that matter?

Sometimes the wife would crouch in front of Cocoa while she slept, and would playfully press her paws to see how much Cocoa would endure before withdrawing them into her chest. Giggles would erupt. Cocoa sometimes would get up and leave in a sleepy huff, but would always come back later for a good scratch she knew was owed to her.

Cocoa genuinely enjoyed the company of all but three people on this entire planet. They know who they are. She had only drawn blood from one other animal – a beagle whose owner encouraged it to stick its head through Cocoa's fence to “make a new friend.” The beagle lost a bite-shaped portion of its ear. Cocoa instantly regretted the instinct that overcame her. The beagle instantly regretted listening to its master.

Cocoa was untrained and strong. On walks, she would pull and dart from side to side as if she were dodging bullets. And when she found a good place to sniff, she’d throw all her weight against the leash in the most infuriating fashion, and would not budge until what was sniffed was sufficiently snuffed.

And then there were baths. Many groomers flat out refused to groom Cocoa just for the plain fact that she was a Chow. This left the burdon of cleanliness to the man. Baths were sudsy wrestling sessions. When Cocoa finally would succumb, she'd often take tiny subtle steps further and further away from the hose, just to see how far she could get. After a well-fought bath, Cocoa would find the dirtiest spot in the yard, flop on her back and roll around- all the while groaning as deep as she could from the back of her throat, as if trying her best to show the man that any bath could easily be undone.

A few years passed and the family grew. The man and his wife had a baby girl. And then another. Cocoa found herself now riding in the back part of a station wagon- behind the back seats. But as any dog knows, it doesn’t matter how you get to the park, just as long as you get to the park.

Although the two kids took significant focus away from the now middle-aged fur ball, there were plenty of family members to go around. It was always a treat when the wife’s father would take Cocoa out for a brisk morning walk. The first born baby girl was fascinated by Cocoa, who must have resembled to her a large walking stuffed animal. So much so that first born’s first word was “Cocoa.”

The timing was slightly off for Cocoa’s relationship with the children. By the time they were old enough to play all rough-and-tumble, Cocoa wasn’t very interested. Sleep became the priority, no matter how hard the second born girl playfully yelled at her to obey. However, it must be said that she never turned down a good childish scratch or two or three or four treats. Or five treats.

Cocoa had only been to the emergency room twice. Once, for inhaling a foxtail up her nose. The other…for gas. The wife's sister saw her stretching in an odd fashion out in the yard after a big meal and became convinced she must have swallowed some nails. After a barium flow, the X-ray showed an empty pocket in her intestines. The E.R. vet pointed at it with his pen and flatly said, "Gas." Other than that, Cocoa was generally in fantastic health.

But as Cocoa grew older she was progressively diagnosed with Vestibular Disease – which made her head tilt to such a degree she couldn’t walk straight , OCD- yeah OCD, Hypothyroidism, chronic watery eyes, chronic Otitis – which means ear infections – warts, occasional surprise bouts of extreme diarrhea, Canine Eczema and Arthritis. The one-time puppy was growing into a blend of Howard Hughes and Betty Davis after her ninth stroke.

Fifteen birthdays. Fifteen years of friendship. Fifteen years worth of declaring with eager yelps that the man had come home from work. And during that fifteenth year, Cocoa’s strong frame started to betray her. The Arthritis became stronger. Cocoa grimaced when sitting down or getting up- with each task taking minutes instead of seconds. The medicine progressed from a daily pill to a bi-weekly shot in the leg to nothing…because nothing more could help. Her senses grew thick with the fog of old age- so dulled that she would sleep through squadrons of unforgiving summertime flies laying eggs around her moist eyes. All Cocoa knew was that she liked to eat. But everything else came and went with the moment. Her eyes grew milky with cataracts. Her hearing totally gone. Her bones jutted out underneath her skin. Her weight dropped from 70 pounds to 38 pounds. The days were growing too long and too tough for the old dog…

Over thanksgiving weekend each member of the family paid Cocoa a special visit, each giving her the most delectable of treats: fried chicken, french fries… And each giving her a good scratch and a most sincere, “Good Dog.” In fact, the man found himself remarking that never had he seen an animal gain such affection from so many people like Cocoa had.

On December 1st, the man and his wife arose from bed with a direct purpose for that day. After breakfast, the two girls each gave the old dog a hug, and were taken to school. The man pulled six sausage patties from the wrapping and cooked them fresh. And the man and his wife took Cocoa to the park. Because it doesn’t matter how you get to the park…

The morning was spent walking along the grass, sniffing as much as possible, and enjoying the sausage patties. At one point a woman came by with a great fluffy dog. She took a look at Cocoa and stopped in her tracks.

“WOW what kind of dog is that?”

“Chow…mixed…we think.”

“Mine, too! How old?”

“Fifteen.”

“Wow, I hope my dog is lucky enough to live to fifteen! Well, I hope your dog lives for a long time! Bye!”

The man and his wife helped Cocoa along the grass of the park as she struggled to sniff and walk and keep her balance. She’d stop every now and then, maybe out of exhaustion, maybe to let the sun warm her bones. After some time they found a good shady spot where two woodpeckers were working hard on a palm tree, and Cocoa enjoyed all but the last sausage patty.

Later, while the wife went to get the doctor, Cocoa ate the last sausage patty in the back of the station wagon in the parking lot of the animal hospital. The man made a promise that Cocoa would never have to be afraid of a moment like this, so they were going to stay right there in the car and the doctor would have to come out to her. And as the man watched Cocoa eat the last bit of sausage, he felt tight with how much he loved her. This was an animal that he used to hold in the crook of his arm. She fit so perfectly when she was small. And now, she was old. And she lay in his arms once more.

The next few moments were ones that only the man, his wife, and their dog could share. Words would serve so poorly…

After the man threw Cocoa’s harness away in the nearby dumpster he looked down at the dog's name on the I.D. tag that he decided to keep. "Cocoa." It became the perfect name for her. He jammed the I.D. tag into his pocket and got into the car. As he and his wife drove off, he felt something he didn’t expect. Happiness. Because he knew that Cocoa had something that any animal in this world is very lucky to get: a LIFE. And really, she had that.

Cocoa Dodge lived. Is there any sweeter thought?