The kids knew that Cosmo was very sick so we told them on Tuesday morning that our doggie was going to a better place and to say goodbye to him. They obviously left the house with bit fat tears running down their faces. Luke went to school and told his teacher that Cosmo was going away to live with another family who would take better care of him. Sweet innocence. He didn't quite get it, though Tom explained later that Cosmo had died. Little Ellie did get it though, and when I saw her after school, she ran up to me and said, "mommy, is he gone?" It was so hard to tell that little face that Cosmo was indeed gone. Once I did, she cried and cried. And cried. And when we got home that evening, she ran through the house gathering up all of Cosmo's things saying, "I just can't picture our family without Cosmo! It's not right!" It was a rough night. She ended up sneaking his nasty sweater into her backpack this mornign and putting in her desk at school. Safe to say she takes after her mama in the emotional department. I was actually fine until I got home from work this afternoon. I walked in the door and naturally looked over to the chair Cosmo had taken to for the last year. That empty chair did it for me. It's so hard not to miss a little fuzzy, stinky creature that's been glued to my side for 13 years. He really was a good dog. So as not to be overdramatic, I will now leave you with this sweet post about our good, good buddy.
A few years back, before kids, I asked Tom for a dog.
I wanted a Yorkie, like the cute, little, sassy girl Yorkie I grew up with, Cinci.
Tom bought me a dog.
Sweetly, he hid the puppy in the laundry basket and asked me to grab him a towel. To my surprise, there the black dot of a Yorkie lay sleeping.
It was so cute until it grew into an enormous boy dog, at 15 pounds, much heftier than the average Yorkie.
To this day, we still wonder what those AKC papers are printed on.
Although Cosmo (named after Cosmo Kramer from Seinfeld) wasn't what I was expecting AT ALL, He has turned out to be a pretty good old boy.
It didn't start off on the best paw.
He flunked puppy kindergarten because he hates other dogs.
He chewed my Brookside starter house into smitherines.
He acted as though he would rather jump in a volcano than interact with other animals.
He always walked around with an apologetic look in his eye.
He didn't really understand the idea of spunk.
He ate up one of Tom's baby pictures that was really special to me.
I wanted to strangle him at that point.
But things got better. He started becoming a good boy.
His timidity towards other dogs meant that going outside was only a place to do his business, never to dig holes or harrass kittys.
He got over his chewing stage and barked at all the appropriate times.
His big body meant a big bladder. No accidents or potty problems like those 5 pound Yorkies have.
Though devastated when our first child was born, he grew to love the kids. They love him back.
He makes us laugh with his quirky ways.
He wears sweaters without complaint, even though Tom takes up for him and secretly peels off the sweater when I'm not looking.
He is never the agressor, yet never rude. Just silently pleading to get him the heck out of dodge.
The boy would never run away. He stands outside the door desperately waiting to get back in.And look, can you see that he still has that humble look of apology? Like, ahem, I'm so sorry to bother you here, but I'd like to come back into the house now. Thank you.
Quite like an old English fart, he is. We call him neurotic behind his back. But he really is a good boy.
In his old age, I am starting to notice his health going downhill. He can't see too well and pees in weird (though still acceptable) places.
Last week he peed in the garage. And even when he does something he shouldn't, he is still a good boy.
He peed in the shape of a heart. Good dog.
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