A tribute to our beloved Coco

By Kevin Glynn
​
My wife and I first met Coco in 2013, a few months before we started volunteering for Halfway Hounds. It was New Year’s Eve, and she had just arrived at Park Ridge Animal Hospital for an initial checkup after her Freedom Ride. Erin and I happened to be there donating some old crates to the non-profit.

She was unsure of herself, understandable for a dog just pulled from the shelter, but my wife was immediately enamored with her. I was drawn to another dog, Zoe, with whom she was rescued. We wouldn’t see either of them again for months, and neither of us had any idea that we would adopt both of them before the end of the following year.

Coco came into our lives again thanks to Halfway Hounds president Carl Zive. He called Erin to ask how we were doing with Emma, our first Halfway Hounds rescue, and to see how we were coping with the loss of our Beagle, Audrey, who died from Lymphoma several weeks earlier.

After catching up, Carl told Erin about Coco. She was emotionally shut down. She hid in her crate or under tables for most of the day. She couldn’t be walked by her foster family. Her anxiety put her into a constant state of flight whenever she was out of the house. When she went to adoption events, she would completely shut down and just lay there, oblivious to anything happening around her.

After dinner that night, Erin told me that we needed to talk about something and then excused herself from the table. She returned with her laptop and proceeded to show me a PowerPoint detailing all of the reasons we should bring Coco home. I don’t remember all of them, but I do remember one -- my wife had so much love to give that she needed her. Through all of our experiences together, especially with the dog rescue, I’ve learned to never doubt my wife’s compassion or her ability to love. And as it turned out, we both needed her.

There are few things in this world that I will ever find as beautiful as watching Emma help turn Coco back into a dog. She began working the second she met her and continued, almost without rest, for days.

Emma would lie in front of Coco, inviting her to play with high pitched barking. She would roll on her back, play bow, kiss her face, pick up a toy and toss it across the room. Through it all, she would bashfully glance at her, hoping for a reaction. But Coco steadfastly ignored her.

Hours passed. A day. Then two. And then something amazing happened. Coco started paying attention to Emma. At first with just a glance. Then a gaze. And then suddenly, as Emma walked across the room with her favorite toy in her mouth, Coco got out of her bed, walked over to her, and started gently playing tug.

They quickly became inseparable. Coco was still very unsure about her new humans, but my wife and I were so moved by her spirit, her capacity to love, and the bond that she and Emma had formed, that we accepted the fact that this dog may never bond with us. We would provide her with whatever she needed for as long as she needed it and never ask for anything in return. And we never did. As responsible owners who wanted her to have a full life, we asked her to do many things, but everything was for her own good.

Shortly after we made that promise, my wife and I were lying on the couch watching TV when Coco got out of her bed, tiptoed over to me, sat down so that I could pet her, and then lied down on the floor in front of me. Our patience paid off. We had earned her trust, and within weeks she was providing us with more love than we were ready to handle.

For those of you who don’t know Coco, once she finally came out of her shell she gave everything she had no matter what she was doing. She ran long before she could walk. As Yoda, from the Star Wars saga said, “Try not. Do or do not. There is no try.” Coco never tried anything. She either did it, or she didn’t do it. She played as hard as she could for as long as she could. She chased down balls and frisbees like she was hunting down her very soul. She played keepaway from the other dogs with endless energy, athleticism and grace. She loved to run next to me on a bike. And yes, she even learned to stop trying to run back home and to walk calmly on a loose leash.

When my wife and I started working with dogs as volunteers with Halfway Hounds, and then for our own clients, Coco was a natural. She welcomed all types of dogs to her home. She taught them what it meant to trust; what it meant to live; what if meant to love. And for any humans paying close enough attention, she taught them the same.

Many dogs led us down the path of training and rehabilitating dogs. But Coco is the dog that made me want to be a better pack leader. She needed us to be strong and confident so that she could grow. Once we were strong enough, she blossomed.

In many ways, Coco is everything that I want to be. She lives every day to the fullest -- Work. Play. Love. Smile. Rest. Repeat. While I and the rest of the pack were trying to do things, Coco was doing them. If she did the wrong thing, she would do something else -- with everything she had -- until she got it right.

I said earlier that I would never expect anything from Coco, that I would never ask her to do anything for me. I meant it, but I now find myself struggling to keep that promise. She’s not even 4 years old, and my sweet girl was recently diagnosed with intestinal Lymphoma. So now, more than anything, I want to ask her to try to live.

I know that she can’t, but I want her to try. And then I remember -- Coco doesn’t try anything. She either does it, or she doesn’t do it. And I know that she’ll keep giving us everything she has, just like she did from the moment we brought her home, until she has nothing left to give. That is her gift. And we’re all better for it.

********************************

Erin and I met Coco three years ago today. It has also now been three weeks since we said goodbye to her. I’ve been around dogs my entire life, and I’ve had to say goodbye to many. But it was very difficult to tell such a young dog who fought so hard, if only for a few weeks, that she didn’t need to fight anymore. The day before our goodbyes we played frisbee with her for the last time, and she was just as determined and athletic as ever. That morning she played with the pack. Her digestive system failed her, but the cancer could never defeat her spirit. That will live on in my memory for as long as I’m around.

There have been many changes in our pack since Coco passed, and I’ll detail that in future blogs. Many of them are related to grief. Some are due to the restructuring of our pack because of the loss of her energy. But at least one change has been positive.

We brought two of our dogs who were close to Coco with us to the vet that day so they could join us in providing Coco with comfort, and so they could say goodbye and grieve with my wife and me. When it was over, I looked over at Emma and Ellie, and I knew how important Coco had been to them. They had bonded with her in ways they have never bonded with the dozens of other dogs they have spent time with, including each other and Zoe.

I promised them that day, along with my wife and daughter, that I would give them and all of the dogs I work with a better version of myself -- I would be more charismatic, more patient, and more determined -- not because they weren’t getting the attention that they needed, but because life is short, and those we love deserve the best that we have to offer.

Coco gave everyone her best every day that she was with us, right up until the end, and she paid it forward by helping other dogs. We’re mourning now because that energy has left us, but I know her short life is one that we will celebrate for many years to come. And I know that other dogs will benefit from everything that we learned from her.

Erin and I, along with the rest of the pack, will keep paying it forward. That’s what Coco would have done.

---