COOPER BASS

PETEY, IS THAT YOU?

Last winter, my son Ryan insisted on getting a therapy dog.  His approach led me to this interpretation:  "I really want a dog, and I know Mom is totally gonna say no, but if I say I want a "therapy" dog I might have a fighting chance."  Well, his strategy was very well laid out and his sales pitch all too persuasive, because I caved in... there's no doubt, dogs really can be therapeutic (excluding Chihuahuas).  And apparently, I must have felt that the two dogs already living in the house weren't contributing enough to the poop piles in the backyard, or chomping away at the 600 pound bags of dog food fast enough to make me say "HECK NO, we are not getting another dog!"  So...as a surprise gift for Christmas, I came home from the Humane Society with this gem.  He was a rescue from Austin, Texas, displaced during Hurricane Harvey, and transported to Spokane in search of a new family.  One look at him and I immediately thought of Petey, from The Little Rascals.   How could I possibly walk away?

Well, it turns out his name was not Petey, it was Cu-Cay, so said the information sheet clipped to his kennel door.  But interestingly enough, Cu-Cay had been crossed out and "Cuckoo" written in beside it.  Gee, shouldn't that have been a sign???  I asked the lady at the front desk if she knew what Cu-Cay meant, but she didn't have any answers (sure she didn't).  Ironically, a couple at the other end of the counter, who were in the middle of bonding with their newly adopted cat, had overheard me and replied "Cu-Cay is slang for Boogeyman, in Spanish."  I was left there thinking, "Who was the brilliant one who thought renaming him Cuckoo was a better marketing ploy?"  This dog didn't have a chance! Regardless, whether Cu-Cay or Cuckoo, that should have been a sign...

So there I was, making a conscious decision to bring home the Boogeyman.  During our 45 minute car ride I had a candid talk with him and laid down the ground rules, just so we were on the same page.  And, more importantly, I begged him not to slay me in my sleep,  then followed up with a simple reminder that I had rescued him from the aftermath of Harvey's torrential flood waters and even quite possibly, the Gates of Hell.  Therefore, it had to be a given that an unbreakable pact existed between us and we'd always have each other's back.  I think he understood...

Once home, curiosity led me to the Urban Dictionary because really, what were the chances this couple happened to know, out of the blue, the answer to my question?  Then it was confirmed: Cu-Cay indeed meant the "Mexican Boogeyman".  Oh, and something the lovely couple didn't bother to tell me before I signed the adoption papers, was that Cu-Cay likes to live in the closets of children.  Wow, isn't that cool - something every youngster looking for a therapy dog would feel safe going to bed knowing...

After shaking off the goosebumps, I proceeded to tell Ryan he was going to have to come up with a name for his therapy dog (the poor dog probably needed therapy himself).  I, of course, threw my suggestions out there: " How about Bentley or maybe Winston?"  Those sounded like the names of dogs who would never consider slaying someone in their sleep.  But Ryan wasn't impressed.  So then we mulled over other names like Steve, Patches, and even Petey, but nothing stuck.  I told him he would have to figure it out before the vet appointment because the first thing they would ask for was a name and one thing I knew for sure, it wasn't gonna be Cu-Cay.

Cooper.  That was Ryan's "Aha Moment", when he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, his dog would be called by none other.  I didn't know the name he had chosen until we checked in at the vet clinic.  It was almost like a gender revealing party for expectant parents.  And don't get me wrong, I like the name Cooper, but I have to say, Cooper or not, every now and then, when this dog tilts his head down, turns slightly to one side, and raises his eyes at me, I see Cu-Cay.  It's during these times I think there might really be some Boogeyman in him and it's a bit spooky.

So here we are, eight months later.  Ryan and Cooper (sounds like the title of a children's book) are total BFF's.  They naturally "get" one another:  they play rough with each other (which resulted in me receiving this picture, with a "how do I clean this up?" text following), love on each other, obey each other's commands, have an unspoken understanding of each other, and fish together... although not in a conventional way.

One of Ryan's passions is bass fishing and I have to say, he is dang good at it.  He can cast his lure into a red Solo cup from 50 feet out, spot on, 95% of the time, with very little effort or thought. And perhaps it was a YouTube video that gave him the idea or maybe an inspirational dream he had in the middle of the night, but I noticed an old tennis shoe tied to the end of the line on his fishing pole as he was darting out the sliding glass door one afternoon, with Cooper trailing at his heels.  "Whoa - what's up with that?"

Hook, Line, and Sinker

"Gonna catch me some Cooper Bass" was his response.  Not understanding what that meant, I followed him outside.  He stood on the bow of his Skeeter bass boat (okay, so it's an orange Gatorade cooler for now cuz, in actuality, he still needs to get a license so he can drive  and then find a job that will afford him a bass boat... you know, the whole adulting thing), casted his pole across the full length of the yard and watched as Cooper chased after the shoe, grabbed it and started tugging.  Ryan then yanked on the pole as if setting the hook.  Meanwhile, I'm holding my breath, waiting for his pole to snap in half, and fully expecting to make an emergency run to the tackle shop.  As Ryan attempted to reel him in, Cooper would allow him to get within a few feet and then suddenly, shake his head back and forth and run the opposite direction, pulling the shoe back across the yard.  You could hear the drag of the line from inside the house.  It was the funniest thing.  I've never seen a dog pretend to be a fish, but can certainly say Cooper proved he has just as much bass as Boogeyman running through his blood.  What a find!  This is the beauty of their relationship:  Cooper senses Ryan's love for fishing and this is his way of staying connected with his best friend.  And as far as Ryan is concerned, he gets to pretend he's caught a big enough bass to land him his all-time personal best in the record books.

Catchin' The Big One

So, regardless of whether he's a bass or the Boogeyman, Cooper really has been "therapeutic", not only for Ryan but for me.  I see the bond between the two of them and as a Mom, that provides a lot of comfort.  And, to date, the pact between Cooper and myself is still intact and honored by both sides.  Apparently he did understand the conversation on our car ride home.  I think about all of the people who could have taken him home during the 2 months he was in captivity but didn't, and I think about why our paths suddenly crossed and why I was the one who chose, Boogeyman or not, to load him into the car, and introduce him as a new member of the family.  I'm glad I didn't heed to the "signs" that day because he really has become an adorable part of this household.  I guess the universe is funny that way...

Oh, and on a side note, Ryan has recently acquired a new found love for golf. Guess who else has.  Perhaps we will be switching back and forth from Cooper Bass to Cooper Nicklaus.

Hole In One