Category: Cozy

Cozy adored me, and though she also loved Lauren, with Lauren it was different. Cozy’s love for me was multiplied by an additional layer of respect. With Lauren, well, let’s just say that they didn’t see eye to eye on the whole female hierarchy thing.

Through our research we had learned that dogs live in a strict hierarchical society in which there was, in every pack, an alpha male and an alpha female. The alpha male and female are like the king and queen of the pack, and with rank comes certain privileges. Alphas expect to be obeyed, and they don’t take insubordination from inferiors. We learned that if a dog thinks that it has alpha status over its owner, then the owner may have problems ranging from the dog not obeying commands to aggression issues to the owner being downright afraid of his or her own dog. We weren’t afraid of Cozy, but we were starting to have some issues.  (more…)

A Newf puppy, like any giant breed dog, grows like a weed for the first eight months or so. At 14 weeks of age, Cozy weighed in at forty pounds which meant she had grown those 40 pounds in just over three months. Given the opportunity she would eat anything that looked like food and, being a puppy, many things that did not. She would routinely grab things that she shouldn’t have and trot away with her head and tail held high as if to say look at me! I bet you can’t catch me! As soon as you’d take a step towards her she’d bolt just out of reach, then turn to face you with her whole body wagging and her treasure hanging from her mouth. She was fond of any type of laundry, but it was the underwear that really enticed her. She would often be found trotting through the house with bras, socks and anything else that would mortify the average young person. The constant public display of our inappropriate unmentionables was an inconvenience at most. Water, we quickly learned, was a much bigger problem. (more…)

After eight long weeks, we received a call from Linda saying that we could come pick up our Cozy. We found her just inside the front door of Linda’s house, all puffed up from being freshly washed and blown dry. There is nothing quite like a Newf puppy, especially as we would soon discover, a fluffy clean one. She looked like a stuffed animal magically brought to life that easily seemed twice as big as she had been the week before. She still had her silver-grey eyes and her mischievous little face just seem to scream Play with me!, while also showing just a hint of nervousness. She still had blue around her neck and was living proof that the word adorable is an inadequate representation of the truth where puppies are concerned. (more…)

As the weeks went on, the pups grew and grew, progressing from the little black potatoes we first saw into fluffy bright balls of energy hell bent on discovering, chewing, and otherwise making a mess of everything with which they came in contact.

We went back often to play with the pups and watch them grow. Since the pups would be ready to leave their mothers at eight weeks of age, time was running out for us to make our choice. Since all of the male pups were spoken for, we were excited to learn that we had the pick of the four females in the litter. This narrowed our listed choices down to two: the blue and the white collared puppies. They were both very energetic and both seemed very bright, but how to choose? (more…)

The year was 1997; Bill Clinton had just started his second term as president of the United States, O.J. Simpson had been found liable for the deaths of Ron Goldman and Nicole Brown Simpson in civil court, and the Comet Hale-Bopp made its closest visit to Earth spawning hoards of amateur astronomers — myself included — to stay up all night gazing at its beautiful tail. J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone was published. Diana, Princess of Wales was killed in a car accident, Mother Theresa died, the first color photo appeared on the cover of the New York Times, and James Cameron’s film Titanic was released to become the largest grossing movie in history.

It was a different world than the one we live in now. The attacks on the World Trade Center in New York City were still years away, and we were all blissfully unaware that such a horrific event could transpire on American soil. (more…)

As I stood over the freshly dug grave, I had no way of knowing the awful truth: my father had killed my dog. So far as I knew, my beloved Saint Bernard dog, Brandy, had snapped at him, supposedly because she was in pain. Because of this most heinous of crimes, and in accordance with the initial conditions of her purchase, my father had issued the order and had my dog “put to sleep”. Sadly, and unbeknownst to me at the time, none of what he had described had actually happened.

I was an only child, and Brandy had been my best friend for nine years. We had bought her in 1973 when I was in third grade, after which she had remained my constant companion until her untimely death in the spring of 1982. I was 17 years old when the doctor gave her the fatal injection in the back seat of our car. I was sitting with her when she collapsed, her massive head falling into my lap. I ran my hands over her lifeless face, recalling the vet’s words about involuntary muscle contractions as I watched my dead friend swallowing again and again during the ride home. Perhaps, I wondered, there was wonderful cool water to drink in heaven. (more…)