aka “Furchild” (obvious); aka “Ears” (see below); aka “Squirrel” (absolutely no logical reason)
Cooper is my 6-year-old rescue mutt. I adopted him from a rescue organization when he was 13 months old. He is part Shetland Sheepdog, part Papillion, part Probably-Something-Else-Maybe -Even-A-Fox-Or-Other-Feral-Creature-For-All-I-Know. I’ll write about when and how he became my fifth limb soon, but for now, just know that he is He Is Also Insane.
Not in the cute, “tehe, look at that quirky little pup that does weird-but-endearing things sometimes!” way, but in a way that inspires the 45-degree head-cock sometime within the first 15 minutes of anyone’s first encounter with him. Or twenty-second. He barks loudly and incessantly when “new people” (aka “anyone who isn’t mom, and wasn’t in my field of vision or hearing 30 seconds ago”) enter the room, but when said new people so much as step towards him, he scurries backwards terrified, quickly and crablike, while maintaining laser-focused eye contact. If he lets you touch him beyond a brief accidental swipe the first time I meet you, I’m pretty sure you have a soul of frankincense myrrh and cotton candy.
As with many such creatures, I’m not entirely sure about his back-story; all I know is that he had 5 different homes in the first year of his life, wasn’t “officially” abused but hits the deck if you talk with your hands while holding rolled up paper, and was removed from his home by the cops, not just given up when his owners went to serve time, due to some sort of legal issue involving ridiculous amounts of illegal substances in Florida.
Given that they don’t generally call animal services to seize all the suspects’ pets during a routine drug bust, the fact that an alcoholic beverage left unattended around Cooper is in greater danger than a block of cheese or slab of bacon, and he’s almost cartoonish and cliche in his skittish-yet-manic, anthropomorphic canine “Intervention” cas tmember ways, I’m guessing it was sort of a “Hoarders” meets “Breaking Bad” situation. Assuming that he essentially spent his most physiologically formative months in a meth lab actually explains a lot and makes me feel a lot better about the ways in which he seems irredeemably untrainable.
Alright, not exactly a ringing endorsement. Nevertheless, his off-the-charts startle reflex and affinity for paper products are infinitely outweighed by so much. Despite occasional skittishness as well as very brief but very manic hilarious fits of FRAPing, he is generally almost cat-like he’s so easygoing – he’s happy to stay in bed until I’m ready to get up in the morning, and if anything, will often stay there as if to say, “yes, go ahead, do your human things…I’m just going to stay here where it’s all warm and cozy and do my dog things, like sleeping. You know where to find me.” Likewise, when I’ve been ill and needed to really take it easy, he has no problem spending all day, for days at a time, lounging in bed or on the couch, and seems almost apologetic when signaling he needs to go out or is hungry. He’s also incredibly sensitive. It’s a double-edged sword, for sure, but the same sensitivity that causes his separation anxiety makes him acutely attuned to my own moods, often before I’m aware of them myself, and moreover, he navigates them well; he’s clingy and lovey and sweet if I’m sick or blue, but pretty much gets it and stays out of my way if I’m rushed and stressed. He’s also just really, really funny. He’s got a huge personality, that unfortunately not a lot of people get to see due to his shyness around strangers, but he’s getting better with time and age, so hopefully more people that I love will get to see the side of him that’s so hilarious, sweet and loveable (rather than simply cute, but strange).
He’s also a GREAT car traveler, and for all his other phobias and eccentricities, is completely unfazed by thunder and storms. And as an added bonus, he also tolerates clothing with a slightly freakish apathy. I sincerely, completely, kind-of-stop-breathing-and-throw-up-in-my-mouth-a-little-thinking-about-it, cannot imagine my life without him – allergies, stress-induced colitis, and costs-of-parenthood all in.