|R.I.P. Cooper, 2003-2012|
I will never again get to sit with Cooper outside in the morning; when I still lived at home, we would sit out on the back steps while I had my coffee and Cooper stood guard beside me. I'll never get to touch his velvety ears or the soft patch of fur just before his nose, never get to look into those big brown eyes, never get to kiss him on his little blackberry nose. I'll never get to hear him grumbling and ranting because he wasn't allowed outside while the lawn was being mowed (he sure loved to ride along on the riding mower, though!). I'll never get to lint roll his fur off my shirt again. Dachshunds are notoriously stubborn, but I taught him "sit" and "dance" and "go get it" and he wouldn't respond to the commands unless I gave them. I was hoping that he would get to ramble around our new house and give his sniff of approval to everything; we don't close until next month.
I'm grateful that I was able to see him a little less than a month ago. I visited my family around the end of May and when I left, I told Cooper, "Bye bye, puppy. Be good! I'll miss you." That's the last memory I'll have of him. Is it morbid to want to see his body at the vet? To see him one last time in the flesh, even if it's cold and lifeless, before he is gone forever? My Mom said he died with a smile on his face, a smile I've seen thousands of times but only remains in pictures. All I have left are pictures, memories, and paw prints all over my heart.
I love you, little guy.