Today is Coco’s Gotcha Day.
I’ve written about it before on this journal, it does happen every year after all, but for those who may not know and/or have missed it: since Coco is a rescue dog, we don’t know what her birthday is. The same is true for most rescues, and thus, the rescue community celebrates the day they were adopted instead. Today is the day we adopted Coco.
I love this dog. Let me count the ways:
She’s small, and she’s soft, and she loves to be held. She is the most cuddly dog I’ve ever met; she’s one of those rare, special dogs who is always in the mood for pats, and she’ll plop down and just stay wherever you put her.
Her fur is thick and silky. He legs are short and stubby, and they poof on her hind quarters to give her what we like to call ‘pantaloons.’ Her ears flop when she walks, and when she pins them back, she looks like a flying nun.
Her eyes are usually half-hidden behind a forest of fur and whiskers, but she melts me when she looks up at me. She was so afraid to give eye contact when we first adopted her, it was far too intimidating, but now she looks up at me all the time; sometimes lovingly, like, ‘yes that feels good,’ and ‘I love being in your arms; sometimes hungrily like ‘feed me,’ and ‘what is this, a poor house?’
Her teeth are little nubbins, all of them worn down and no longer sharp. The vets say that’s a tell-tale sign of a dog who had to fend for itself for a while. Coco was found on the streets of Downey, dirty, bedraggled, and full of ticks. She has cataracts in both of her eyes, worst on the left side, and when she was taken into the rescue, she was horribly under weight, she had a uterus infection, and her fur was like wire. She’d really been through tough times…
…but as soon as the antibiotics kicked in a day or two after spending all her time passed out on our chaise lounge, she was wiggling across our floor on her back, wagging her tail, and snuggling her way into our hearts. She never complains, except when Liz has her out and about town; then sometimes she barks when she’s tired of being someplace busy. Other than that, she’s silent…except for these little snorts and chuffing noises she makes when we pet her. I think she makes those noises because she was a mother, and those are noises she made for her puppies to let them know she was there, and that she was happy, and she loved them. They’re happy noises. The best noises.
Right now, she’s draped across my ankle at the foot of the bed, passed out. This is the normal state of the Coco. Asleep. Comfy. And touching me. She’s always pressed up against me in some manner or fashion, and that alone just brings me such joy and warmth and happiness.
I love you, Coco.
Happy gotcha day.
Today was also day 3 of 90 for writing and exercising. I did a stretch routine again–I think I will all week, actually, it’s working–and I wrote just under 2,500 words, plus some outlining. The streak/challenge is intact!
Good night!