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The Love of My Life

In 4 Short Paws

By Julie LewisPublished 6 years ago 3 min read
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COOPER

I know there are many out there who will say, "but it's just a dog." Firstly, "it's" a "he," and secondly, there's no such thing as "just a dog." I believe there's no such thing as "just" any sort of animal, actually. They all have remarkable personalities; cows listen to music and turkeys like hugs. But for me, my little slice of family comes in the shape of a Jack Russell Terrier. Cooper is not big or brilliantly behaved or even particularly nice to everyone. But he's mine. And through no choice of my own...I'm his. This little dog who doesn't even stand as high as my wellies and who weighs in at quite a hefty stone and a bit has become a torch for me. When I cry, he licks my tears, and when he is filled with joy on his beach walk, do you know what he does? About 100 metres away, he turns around, grins at me, and like a tiny missile, hurls himself from wherever he is, straight into my knees. This is love.

His first "dad" loaded him gently into my pet carrier and, with tears running down his face, facilitated a promise to keep in touch and to love this little dog. This dog sat silently on his blanketed floor all the way home and didn't utter a sound. I must admit, I'd wondered if I'd done the right thing. I knew the phrase of old: "'A dog is for life..." and nothing I'd done so far had lasted anywhere near forever.

I parked the car, turned off the ignition, and opened the door. Two black buttons peered out of the basket and the puppy leaned backwards. I noticed he'd been sick, obviously not used to traveling. I guess at three months old he wouldn't be. Ignoring the puddle of puke, I reached in and gently brought the little fellow out, tucking him into my neck and stroking him. It was only then that I realised how small he was. Playing with his mum, dad, and brother back at his birth home, he'd seemed so boisterous and confident. Now, here with me, was this body, this dog, this little life who was to rely on me for absolutely everything. As he snuggled into my hair and his wet nose found my cheek, I knew beyond reason that my heart was most definitely lost.

I know what it is to lose people, to be disappointed, to fear that nothing will be OK. I know what it feels like to want to give up. Cooper, my dog, gives me reason. He drives me mad, makes me laugh, and I know he would protect me with every ounce of strength in his powerful little body. I am the first person he looks for every day and it's as if I've been away for years every time he sees me. If he has a sabbatical at my parents', Mum says that he waits at the bottom of the stairs for me. Cooper demands responsibility. I need insurance, I can't stay out all night, I have to make sure that where I live is OK for a dog—no, not OK, enhances his life as he enhances mine.

Owning a dog is not really ownership. It's much, much more than that. My dog is part of me; an integral part of my life. I know he has a luxurious existence whether you compare him to other animals...or people. However, for all his privilege, it is I who is privileged. Cooper has decided to love me.

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