Dear Cooper,

I still have your puppy picture in a frame. This small ball of fur that barely took up a couch cushion. 8 years later. You quickly graduated to two full cushions and never hesitated to "make yourself comfortable" despite the occasional person that got in your way. You were our lap dog, all 90 pounds of you.

I wish I could have gotten to say goodbye to you. To say I love you one more time before you had to leave. You were, after all, the one who taught me to love as fully as I have. Although you were by all means the family dog, I somehow claimed you as my own. I spent the an entire summer attempting to potty train you. Recruited friends to stay with you when you were a wee one and scared to be alone. I brushed you. Feed You. Let you sneak into my bed late in the night.

You were the first dog to teach me real, unfettered emotion. The time you accidently locked yourself in the bathroom, I remember being frantic. Every time you would somehow escape the fenced in backyard I remember being short of breath. Afraid I would never see that sweet, sweet face ever again. That someone else would claim you as their own. Or worse yet, I would have to whisper my goodbyes amongst asphalt and tire tracks. I was genuinely afraid I would loose you. I had never had that fear before. I finally cared more for something else than for myself. I never felt that before you.

8 years later. There are still marks in the staircase from when you chewed it. The metal cage still resides in the basement, untouched by you. You were never one to put up with being caged. I quietly wonder where the time went. And have to remind myself that time flies when you love something as surely as I loved you.

Thank you for 8 years. Thank you for a lifetime of love & memories, my little friend.

Rest in peace.