Coco—The Prescription Puppy

Through tear-filled eyes, I pleaded with the pediatrician: “Doctor, what can I do to help my little boy? Every single time L.J. sees a dog, he instantly becomes SO terrified, the blood rushes out of his face, he bursts into screaming tears, and he scrambles up me; desperately clinging to my neck.”

“Oh, that poor child!” the pediatrician sympathized. "It’s called Cynophobia, the fear of dogs,” he explained. “Most animal phobias become onset in early childhood; usually from a traumatic experience. Did he ever have a frightening close call with a dog?”

“Well, when he was a toddler and I was in the hospital giving birth to his baby sister, their aunt & uncle kindly cared for him,” I recalled. "They visited an extended relative who had a couple of Dobermans—friendly, but they bark very loudly whenever a visitor arrives. After carrying L.J. into the house and setting him down, the dogs surrounded him, barking in his face. They wouldn’t have hurt him, but he didn’t know that… They must have looked and sounded awfully scary to him! That was when his phobia began. Now, I don’t know what to do about it. My husband and I are desperate!”

The pediatrician's expression assured me that he was sincerely agreeing with my concerns, “It's a serious matter because he can’t avoid dogs—they are everywhere. Nor would we want him to… Every child should experience the joy of having a dog.”

“Yes!” I agreed, “But, it’s impossible… When I take him and his little sister to the park, they'll be happily playing, yet the minute someone goes by walking their dog, he’s screaming bloody murder.” The other day,” I continued, "I took him to a barber. He was in the middle of cutting L.J.'s hair, when the barber’s gentle dog ambled in… We couldn’t get my kid calmed down! I had to throw some money on the counter and get him out of there with a half-finished haircut. I don’t want him to go through life like this,” I sighed. "Is there anything at all we can do for him?”

The doctor thought for a moment, then scribbled something on his prescription pad and handed it to me, saying: “I prescribe that you get the smallest, gentlest, cutest puppy you can find; and let your children raise it. Don’t force your boy to interact with the puppy; allow him to keep his distance. As he observes his baby sister playing with the puppy, he may begin to feel safer; and hopefully, eventually he will realize most other dogs are safe and enjoyable, as well.”

I was doubtful... I didn’t see how this would work; but after making a followup appointment, I brought the children home to tell their father what the pediatrician had recommended. I handed him the prescription, which read: “Expose to tiniest, gentlest, cutest puppy daily, in small doses from a distance. When he draws close on his own, assign simple tasks of care for puppy.”

My husband and I decided I needed to call on my big brother, Bill, for help. To say that Bill was an animal lover would be putting it lightly… You see, after rescuing several dogs from the local animal shelter, my brother frequently dropped in there to donate bags of dog food. Becoming such a fixture of the place, the staff often put him to work—Bill was always willing to volunteer his labor in whatever capacity was needed. Of all our family and friends, he would be the one to know if there was a small, gentle puppy that might fit the doctor’s prescription to help our boy. After a telephone conversation, my brother was excited to be on the lookout, offering to check with the shelter every-other-day.

Just two weeks later, Bill called: “I’ve found your perfect Prescription Puppy! She's from a litter of puppies some monster left on the side of a ditch in a garbage bag. What kind of person does that? Anyway, she’s the runt of the litter, so tiny… She’s gonna need a lot of care at first. They were half dead when they were brought in! You’d better get down here right away.”

My husband took our two year-old daughter, Tara, with him to the shelter; (we thought it was best to keep our four year-old son at home with me). My husband later told me little Tara squealed with delight when she saw all the animals in the shelter; wanting to bring home every single animal she saw. But, when her Uncle Bill introduced them to the the trembling, tiny black puff, Tara instantly fell in love. Her daddy only had to caution her once to be very gentle; as she tenderly stroked the tiny puppy's fur. I wish I could have seen how happy she was to discover she could keep this one!

Meanwhile, I had been positively preparing our preschooler that Daddy was bringing home a gift for him and his sister. “But, I don’t want a puppy!” L.J. protested with frightened eyes, after I revealed what it was. I knew my son had a kind heart, so I tried appealing to his caring nature: “Oh, but this little puppy needs us! It’s the tiniest puppy you ever saw. And some mean person threw it away in a trash bag, outside in the cold until someone found it just in time. This puppy is SO scared! It needs someone to tell her everything will be okay. Hey, we could warm it up in OUR home! We could give it something to eat and drink, couldn’t we?” But try as I might, our four year-old let out a heartbreaking wail. It was as painful as getting stabbed in the heart when L.J. looked up at me with big pleading eyes and sobbed, “Mommy, DON'T let the puppy come in my room; PLEASE Mommy!” My heart broke as I kneeled down to hug him, assuring him he didn’t have to go near the puppy. I worried to myself, “Are we doing the right thing bringing this rescue dog home?”

Later, our sweet little girl joyfully ran in to me as fast as her little legs could carry her, gleefully shouting, "Puppy, Mommy, puppeeeeey!” She was beaming with excitement. My husband followed close behind, carrying the puppy wrapped in the receiving baby blanket I had sent with him; setting him down in front of the fireplace. “Come see what we brought you, Son!” As he pulled back the blanket, I was surprised that the puppy was even tinier than I had imagined. “It’s a Miniature Schnauzer. Can you believe someone would throw away a Miniature Schnauzer?” my husband pondered. Tara bounded over by the puppy. But L.J. retreated further into the kitchen, pulling me with him. As his baby sister stroked the puppy’s back, I stroked my son’s back, as he tightly clung to my leg.

“What do you think we should name her, Son? Would you like to name her?” his father anxiously fired off one question after another, in an attempt to get L.J. involved. "We’re gonna need to put some newspapers down on the floor, until she’s potty-trained. You kids will have to teach her how to go out in the back yard in the grass, when she needs to go potty. Will you bring me the newspaper, L.J.?” he asked, as he pointed at the Sunday paper on the end table. But, our little boy whirled around, ran upstairs, into his bedroom, and slammed the door as my husband and I exchanged glances. I knew then, that we needed to take things much more slowly, and let L.J. approach the dog of his own accord, as his pediatrician had advised.

As two year-old Tara was telling the puppy to “Go potty!” on the newspaper my husband had put down, my husband and I whispered to one another as we stared down at the puppy. I said, “Well, that didn’t go well.” My husband disagreed, “What are you talking about? He didn’t scream or cry once; this is progress!”

Hunger got the best of our four year-old; so L.J. eventually came downstairs. We were soon all sitting around the kitchen table, looking at the puppy in the other room, as we ate. “Well, we can’t just keep calling her ‘Puppy’; that dog needs a name. What do you think we should name her?” my husband asked. Two year-old Tara called out, “Kitty!” Our laughter broke our son’s silence as he retorted, “It’s not a cat, Silly, it’s a dog!” My husband continued, “She’s got black fur… I think we should name her something that’s black..." "How about Coca-Cola?” I volunteered, “Or Pepsi, perhaps?” Tara called out, “Chocolate!” Their father looked at our son and announced, “L.J., you get to decide. What do YOU think we should name her?” There was silence for a moment, then our little boy asked, “How about Cocoa Puffs, like our breakfast cereal?” After our eyes met for a relieved fraction of a second, my husband and I both happily shouted at the same time: “That’s PERFECT!” I swore I saw a quick grin flash across our son’s face—but just as quickly, it was gone.

By bedtime, Cocoa Puffs and been shortened to Coco. (It would be easier for our littlest ones to say—and eventually learn how to spell.) Tara had to literally be torn away from the puppy, in order to get ready for bed. But, L.J. had steered clear of the puppy ever since supper. So, I tried to give them an enjoyable story time, to ease his anxiety of his greatest fear being just downstairs. Afterward, they liked it when I changed the last line of a familiar bedtime song; causing them to giggle with delight, saying, “No, that’s not how it goes!” As I tried again with another silly ending, they burst into elated laughter.

Our son had seemingly forgotten all about his worries, until we heard whining... “Puppy crying!” Tara called out, very concerned, “Puppy CRYING, Mama!” L.J. became very quiet—he'd lost his smile. Their father called up from downstairs, “Coco’s okay; she’s just scared to be alone.” I spent the next 10 minutes assuring Tara that Coco would be just fine, while L.J. silently listened. They shared a room at the time, as our baby girl had just moved into the bottom bunk of a bunk bed; while her big brother took the top bunk. After I rocked her to sleep and laid her down; I regretted the bunk beds, because I wanted nothing more than to curl up by my son to comfort him. Instead, I gently patted his back, humming a quiet tune until L.J. finally drowsed off, too.

Our son was always up at the crack of dawn, while his little sister preferred to sleep in. As he munched his Cocoa Puffs, L.J. kept stealing glances at the puppy. “Why did she cry all night?” he finally wondered out loud. “Because,” I answered, “I think she is scared and lonely. Coco wants someone to be near her, so she isn’t all alone. She’s not used to our big old house yet. Maybe someday she'll come to feel a part of our family.” L.J. didn’t say anything, but to my surprise, he followed his Dad outside at a distance, as his father carried our Prescription Puppy onto the grass for potty-training. After awhile, when nothing was happening but some crawling around in the grass, our son encouraged from afar: “Go potty, Coco!”

We thought it would take longer, but by nighttime of only the second day, our son had tired of watching from the doorway, and had joined his sister by the puppy. My husband and I hadn’t heard it happen, and were astounded when we saw him, sitting cross-legged on the floor by his sister, both in their pajamas, in front of the puppy. “Not so hard! You’re gonna hurt her!” L.J. chided his baby sister, as she pet the puppy with a toddler's touch. My husband and I both held our breath, not daring to breathe, silently watching from behind, as L.J. ever so slowly reached out his hand and ever so lightly, dared to actually touch the puppy’s fur! It was as if he had received an electrical shock, the way he quickly withdrew his hand, quick as lightning. But, after cautioning his sister once again not to pet so hard, my husband and I grabbed for each others' hand and held hands tightly; as we watched L.J. ever so slowly reach out again... Finally, to our amazement, L.J. begin to stroke their new puppy gently, saying comforting words: “Aww, it’s okay Coco, it’s okay... Don’t be scared, It’s okay.” Tears had welled up in our eyes as we realized this Prescription Puppy was just what the doctor ordered! Only then, were my husband and I able to breathe again.

It was our boy who became enraged some time later, when there was discussion on whether or not we should get Coco's ears clipped—as is common for Schnauzers, Miniature or not. L.J. was horrified at the thought (and rightly so, I agreed)! His little sister, Tara, soon joined in on the chorus of protest—and that's why our Coco went through life with floppy ears. We all thought they were adorable, floppy like that...

At our children’s next visit to the pediatrician, when the doctor asked them about their new puppy, L.J. was beaming, right along with his little sister. They both shouted over each other as they gleefully told of how they brought her to the pet store to buy a leash and some toys; related how Coco follows them down the slide at the park; and how Coco is so little, she kept escaping out of the fence—so Daddy had to put chicken wire down around it... The doctor smiled and winked at me, as they chattered. Yes, his prescription had worked!

Oh, how both our kids doted over that dog, as they grew! After she was spayed, they proudly displayed the blue ribbon she won at a pet show at the children’s library for “Best Stitches”. They would giggle uncontrollably about the time when Daddy bought a giant donut on a road trip; and Coco, thinking it was a pillow for her (like the round pillow she sat on at home) jumped into the front seat and promptly plopped down onto Daddy's donut—wiggling her sugary butt into a comfy position. Daddy shouted in alarm, “HEY, that’s my donut!”

Alas, the precious, magical years fly by and children grow up... During their elementary school years, Coco became the pet of ALL the neighborhood children! They all loved to pick her up, cuddle her, and play with her.

But, during their high school years, we all began to wonder why Coco loved to lay in the sunbeams so much, that filtered onto the carpeting through the windows. “She likes to be warm,” we all assumed. (If only we had realized that the heat was easing her pain—we had no idea for a time, that poor litle Coco was suffering.)

Both kids wanted to take her to college with them; but we solved the argument by saying Coco needed to keep their Dad and me company—she would help get us through our 'Empty Nest Syndrome'.

Coco felt completely lost, when the children were gone. I could tell she missed them terribly. So, she became my shadow. It was ironic that I, the one who had the least relationship with Coco, became her constant companion. If I was walking, she was under my feet; if I was sitting, she crawled onto my lap. When it became too difficult for her to jump up, I would lift her up onto my lap. (I later kicked myself for assuming it was just old age, rather than a serious illness. Her fur had turned from black to mostly gray.) It was just her and I for the majority of every day, so we began to rely on each other for the affection we both used to get from L.J. and Tara. (Truth be told, I probably needed Coco more than she needed me; for I was REALLY missing my kids.)

Both children were still away at college when I had to break the news over the phone to them that poor Coco had been diagnosed with cancer. There was no hope, as she was full of tumors—it killed me to have to tell them that... But, I had felt some knots under her skin when I stroked her fur—which by then, had spread beyond the point of return. Both L.J. and Tara begged us to have the Vet do a surgery to cure her—but their Dad and I had to convince them of what the Vet had advised—surgery would just cause Coco more unnecessary pain, the cancer was too advanced. Both L.J. and Tara didn't want Coco to be in pain... It was extremely difficult for all of us, but we decided as a family, that we should have the Vet end her suffering.

The children came home from college to say their final goodbye. We had all intended to go to the Vet together, for Coco's last outing; but when the time came, the kids and I could not bear to go and watch her be put to sleep. I remember sitting together on the front porch steps as we silently watched their Dad drive away with our beloved Coco. Then, we all simultaneously burst into tears. It seemed fitting somehow that their stalwart father, who had brought Coco home to us from the shelter so long ago; was the one to be by Coco's side as she left us. We truly had lost a close member of our family!

I recall that “My Dog Skip” was playing at the cinema during that time; a true story about a boy and his dog. At the end, the boy eventually loses his best friend, his dog Skip—just like our children had lost Coco. You know, to this very day, my grown children STILL have not been able to bear to watch that movie, yet!

Eventually, after that awful day, there came another day when time enabled us to be able to finally talk about fond memories of our little Prescription Puppy: “Remember how Coco would run and get one of our stuffed animals every time we let her outside to go potty? She wanted to take a friend with her,” they'd reminisce. “Uh, yeah,” I’d interject, “We had to police the back yard for Beanie Babies every night!” My husband added, “Speaking of police, remember how we decided we'd better donate some money to the Police Dog Fund? It was the least we could do, after all the times they had to help us find Coco, because she could fit through the tiniest crack in the fence!” L.J. said, “Oh yeah! Remember how she learned to go through automatic doors? One time she got into the grocery store, trotting down the aisles, not a care in the world, ha ha!” More memories started flooding in... "Mom," said L.J., "Remember that time after your Bible Study Group when Coco was sitting real still amidst a bunch of our stuffed animals, and all the children who were there tried to find which one was the real dog?" We all chuckled remembering how Coco would sit real still amidst all their stuffies. Tara inquired, “Didn’t she go to a bar, too?” My husband answered, “Ha, I had forgotten about that… Yep, someone called our phone number from her dog tag and said, ‘Hey, your little doggie is siting here having a drink with us’ and I had to go and get her.” We laughed… but then... we all cried.

My brother Bill, who helped find Coco for us, long ago died of sudden heart failure. So many strangers were at his funeral, who told me they met him through his love for animals—there were so many lovely experiences they shared. My brother's heart may have failed him, but he and his big heart didn't fail the animals at the shelter! Here's a memorial message someone wrote for his funeral, which says it all: "We are so sorry to hear of your loss. I adopted 'Rya' from Mary (the Shelter's director) when she was helping your brother find homes for some of his dogs, when his health went downhill. Rya is such a special, sweet girl. She loves her new home. If your brother, Bill, had not rescued her back in the day, taken her in, and cared for her, she probably would not have survived! Last summer, I went to 'Paws and More' to adopt a cat; I brought Rya with me, so she could visit Mary. Your brother happened to be at the shelter when we arrived. Ignoring his pain, Bill picked Rya up and held her the whole time we were there. She was shy at first, but then she gave Bill kisses on his face—I think she remembered he was her first Daddy. Bill looked so happy—I'll always remember him that way. Bless you all in this sad time."

Today, our grown daughter, Tara, and her family have three rescue dogs—the smallest one was featured in a community theater performance of "Legally Blond". Tara's husband, a police officer, often shares photos of various police dogs he loves—it's amazing how well they are trained!

Our grown son, L.J., and his family have two dogs. But, he will never forget how his very first dog, his Prescription Puppy, helped him to overcome his Cynophobia in a remarkable way. (If I should be fortunate enough on the unlikely chance to win a Halo dog collar for sharing this story, I would pass it along to L.J. for one of his furry friends; in memory of his Prescription Puppy.)

Coco developed in both of our children an outstanding love for dogs—and a great love for ALL animals! Their family dogs are doing the same, for our grandchildren—all of whom love animals so much, just like their Uncle Bill did. Now, even our children's children are growing up... (When we were gifted a senior photo of the latest one to graduate, Faith; it was to be expected that Faith's graduation picture would be of her and her beloved dog.)

As for my husband and me? Although we really enjoy our childrens' dogs when we visit—which is quite often—we somehow could never bear to get another pet of our own. L.J. and Tara frequently say we should get another dog. But, there are still too many memories... There is no dog who could ever replace that teeny-tiny, trembling, discarded puppy my brother encouraged us to bring home, so many years ago.

Looking back, we are so grateful to the pediatrician for his prescription for healing. We’re also VERY thankful to God for providing the gift of animals to humankind… They truly are a wonderful gift, aren't they? While it's true our abandoned puppy needed someone to love and care for her; we know without a doubt that we needed her, SO much more. We realize without a doubt that Coco, the Prescription Puppy, was a Godsend!

FOOTNOTE: If you've never read (Proverbs 12:10), you should know it if you're an animal lover, like us, for it says: “The righteous one is caring for the soul of his domestic animal, but the mercies of the wicked ones are cruel.” I shared it with a woman who runs an animal shelter, who had never read it. She had that scripture made into a plaque and posted it above the entry to the shelter, for all who entered to read and hopefully, apply.