Coco

Thirteen years ago I was 23 and leaving yet another bad relationship. I had been living in a basement apartment, partying too much, and putting too little of effort into anything of substance. I was lost. I had attended teacher’s college because I couldn’t figure out what else there was to do with a degree in English. I was still waitressing in a town too small for the egos it held with people too small to accept anything beyond their narrative. I had lived there for a year; eight months of which I was a twenty hour bus ride away, “learning.” I supply taught occasionally, when I felt like it and when the bank account was getting low.

My parents (mostly my mother) had decided that it was important to follow me, to be close and provide a foundation for when I settled down, so they moved forty-five minutes north of my accidental landing place. With them they brought their year-old labradoodle, Teddy, and all of his big personality. I loved Ted. They loved Ted. He was smarter than a lot of humans I know, even when he was a puppy. When they had settled into their new place and Teddy was (finally) house-trained my parents started looking for a friend for him. I didn't know how much they were actively looking. At this point I was coming to terms with the fact that I’d chosen yet another alcoholic, irresponsible partner with mommy issues whose jealous streak I could no longer stroke.

Enter Coco.

Before Christmas, my mother had been sent a link by a friend for a litter of puppies listed on Kijiji. Labradoodles, $500 each. My father’s frugal side couldn’t come to terms with a price tag that high. So they passed. But when the same friend shared the same link only a few weeks later, the price had dropped to only fifty dollars and my father no longer had a case against dog number two. My parents drove the forty-five minutes north to a small farm where they met an Amish farmer. He led them to his chicken coop and they saw two litters of puppies separated into two wire cages, one labradoodle and one chihuahua. They were horrified. The dogs were filthy. My mother looked at the man and bit her tongue long enough to indicate that she wanted the runty looking brown one. He told her she didn’t want that one because it had had a broken leg. No longer able to control her Scottish side my mother informed him that she would have taken all four of the litter mates if she could and that the farmer should be expecting a visit from the by-law officers for his lack of humanity. They named her as soon as she was in their arms. Little Coco puked up chicken shit and who-knows-what-else for the forty-five minutes she sat on my mother’s lap in the car.

Two weeks later, I had moved my boyfriend out of my basement apartment. The five trips in my sedan to move his things back into his parents’ house were awkward but necessary. I was exhausted from the constant arguing and drinking and trying to make the square peg fit into the pit that I’d dug myself into. I took a day off from my secondary job and made the drive to my parents for a Sunday supper. I called my mother en route and she asked me to meet her at the dog park; it was Teddy’s favourite place and she was taking Coco for the first time. Entering a well-occupied dog park is chaotic at the best of times but more so when it’s the size of a postage stamp and a sixty pound black labradoodle puppy wants to greet you and give you a hug while all of his friends are beetling about. Eventually I made it to my mother and her friends standing near a park bench. Amidst the melee of running dogs and people chattering about fish in the sea I noticed one feisty little dog was leading the chase and she was getting tired of being everyone’s rabbit. My mother informed me that the nipping ball of brown fur now hiding behind my feet was in fact Coco. I reached down, picked her up, and put her inside my coat. As her shivering slowed she looked up and licked my nose with her tiny pink tongue. That was it; she was mine and my heart was hers.

I moved into my parents’ place a few months later. I still partied a bit but every night when I’d come home Coco would be by the door waiting for me. Every morning her head would be on the pillow next to mine to wake me with a morning kiss. Slowly she became my priority. She was a crazy puppy, eating phones, underwear, and causing general chaos in her wake, and I was her protector. Any time my father would find evidence of Coco’s exuberance she knew she could hide from whatever punishment was coming her way if she found me. Her name quickly evolved to reflect her personality and she became the Nut. We were both grappling with being too smart for our own good and not having enough going on to keep us out of trouble. She, and I, both needed the release of running on the trails and exploring this place that would become the most permanent home I have ever known. Any time she needed something she would face me and stare into my eyes, waiting for me to figure it out, prompting me to recite her laundry list of vocabulary: Water, walk, supper, breakfast, treat, pee. When I hit the right word she would lick her nose and grab my hand in her mouth to lead me where I needed to be. From there our days became structured by supply work, meals, and at least one mandatory walk a day.

Coconut and I moved out of my parents' place and into a condo a few years later. There was no question whether she was coming with me or not. Condo life has been good for both of us. There is no choice but to walk more and I like to think it is keeping us both young. At thirteen I know that my little girl has given me the best of her and I can only hope that I have given her the best of me.