Cooper was the best. Or at least, I thought so. There were plenty of times I was the only one who liked him. Anytime he did something good, he was the family dog; but anytime he did something bad, he quickly became "Carolyn's dog." I frequently claimed him as my own (even though I did little more to care for him than for any of the other dogs), just because he was some sort of get-well-slash-welcome-home-from-the-hospital gift in eighth grade. I spent a fair amount of time in the hospital picking out a name for this new dog and settled on "Bella," only to find out that there weren't any female dogs available. So the last of the litter was this chubby stick-of-butter-and-block-of-cheese-stealing fluff ball who never lost his puppy fur.
I don't mean to be dramatic (am I eulogizing a dog?), but Coop was special to me. This summer when I was studying for the MCAT, he came downstairs to the basement every day to visit me. He'd bring his huge stuffed dog and throw it around, then lay down for a bit next to me until he got bored. He kept going downstairs every day even after I took the MCAT, and he was pretty confused as to where I was and why I wasn't sitting in the same desk. He was silly and smelly, and you could rarely convince him to do anything he didn't want to do (I don't think he fetched a ball once in his life), but he was loyal and soft and cute!
R.I.P. Cooper
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