Coco

In 1992 we got a Boxer puppy. She chose me. The breeder arrived with a buckie fill of puppies who were all gorgeous but Pookie, as she became known, walked over her siblings, into my arms, yawned and fell asleep. I knew I had found the perfect dog.

As with all things perfect at first sight Coco turned out to be fill of nonsense and chaos and love and bounce and sheer happiness. She took ages to house train. She terrorised Kirsty and ate endless trolls, pencils, crayons, tore dresses, ate piles of rubbish and generally opted for the infamous title of "difficult puppy". Yet even as she was cleaned up after, chased down the road (she loved to jump the fence and run ...run ... run .. run), cleaned up after as she felt the need to regurgitate the latest batch of rubbish, under went halfhearted training, leaped over the fence, ran to meet Thandi, jumped on guests, knocked chocolate cakes out of the hands of purchasers, ran across chairs, ate a chair, ate what ever was lying around (and found things appetising that made any onlooker retch) and was threatened with relocation to a farm far far away (and here I really do mean a farm not THAT farm) we all came to the realisation that we loved the hound. There was something about her gentle eyes, her personality and her love for her family that won us over. No matter how naughty she was (and believe me the above list excludes a large number of activities) we all adored her. Friends shuddered, extended family shook their heads in puzzlement but we loved her. She was 'fresh' as our domestic worker called her. Each day was a joy. It arrived full of possibilities. She would look at us with those adorable soft eyes with an expression that could make you think that she was planning on doing nothing but if you knew her, and we did, you knew that in that mind the wheels were turning faster than a hamster on a wheel.

She brought home shoes, socks, a bag fill of fishing equipment and doggie friends. The gang would gather on the lawn of Cotterill Street at about four pm for an afternoon chat and slow walk up the road. At about 5 pm when David's car was heard the gang would disperse from the lawn and Coco would wait for him at the front door. Even our doctor had his own Coco stories. The entire neighbourhood knew her, in a good way since she never did damage to any property other than her family's.

When we left South Africa we could not take her with us. Our eldest daughter said that she would keep her and take care of her. So we patted her, hugged her, cried and said fare well. Coco was devastated. She returned to her puppy habits as the only way at her disposal to let our eldest know that she was hurt and angry. After nine monthes we decided to bear the wrath of our landlord and bring her over to the USA.

She arrived here painfully thin. I think that if she had spent any more time in kennels waiting to be sent over she might well have died. Fortunately she soon regained the weight but it soon became clear that there was something wrong with her. Sadly we were given the diagnosis that she had Cushings Disease. The decision was taken to medicate her and take care of her as best we could. Coco seemed to understand that we were doing our best to keep her clean and happy. She tried her hardest to do her part but it was difficult for her and for us.

Eventually the day arrived when we had to make the awful decision to have her put to sleep. David bravely took her to the vet who agreed that it was the only thing to do given the climate and her condition. A vet tech stepped forward to offer Coco a home in her rescue facility. There was a heated outdoor kennel where Pookie would be able to spend her time. After a lengthy discussion and a phone call to me we decided to accept her offer. It seemed cruel to end a life when there was an option available to extend it without unnecessary harm to the animal.

I shall not go into detail about how we felt or what transpired between us and the vet tech. All I shall say is that I would not take that route again. The months passed. Three months after she had gone to the rescue facility I had a dream that she had come to my bedroom and stood next to the bed so that I could pat her. I could feel the beautiful softness of her ears and she stood beside me letting me hug her and tell her how much I loved her and how sorry I was for any harm we had done to her through good intentions. She left the bedroom without a backward glance. In the morning I said nothing to David about my dream. Then the following night I had another dream. Pookie came to my side of the bed and stood beside me. I could not touch her this time but she looked at me for a long time before she turned and walked away. At the bedroom door she stopped and looked back at me as if to tell me that she loved me and accepted my apology. Then she was gone.

In the morning I told David about the dream and asked him to phone the woman because something had happened to Pookie. He phoned the following day. Pookie had died on the night of my second dream.

I am not superstitous, beyond the normal salt over shoulder thing, nor do I believe every story one hears that relates to the supernatural. Yet on those two nights that precious, wonderful, kind, loving, faithful friend came to me to tell me that she accepted what had happened in her life and to say that she loved us and goodbye.

Today I saw a male version of Pookie. He is 2 years old, fill of bounce and love and happiness. He reminded me of what we lost the day that Pookie left our lives. Dogs, like people, are not replaceable. We share our lives with them and if we are very fortunate we have them with us for many years. The hardest part of loving anyone is that eventually they have to depart. No photograph, no memory - however precious - makes up for the loss. Each moment that we have together is precious. It is a blessing to travel with those we love, no matter how long, or short, the road. Pookie taught me something of great value: love has to be something that you give not take. When it is offered cherish it and celebrate it and when all is said and done forgive each other for the chocolate cakes knocked to the floor, the fences jumped and the trolls chewed. Remember the laughter, the stories and the kindnesses. Nothing else really matters.