Some say it's about adopting a "senior" dog and surely CP has a harder time getting our older kids adopted. But as you read his furever Dad's tribute, to a senior cairn who recently went to the Rainbow Bridge, I bet you'll agree with me that it's really about adopting love and that you get much more love in return than you give:
From Rooster Cogburn's Dad:
There wasn’t much to him. About 17 pounds, 19 tops. But every dog has his day, and every dog owner has a story. Me, too.
Terri and I have had dogs almost our whole marriage. We started with Mr. Creole, a sleek and muscular American black lab-mix we got in Charleston, SC, who was a devilishly charming and swashbuckling gadabout and always looking for ways to escape and meet up with the ladies. Tanqueray, a pure yellow lab of the English habitus, was sweet and gentle and always Creole’s hapless follower. Blackberry, a.k.a. Booboo, was a gentle, faithful female black lab-bull terrier mix. Her sister Gypsy was Terri’s mom’s dog, a wise and loving and faithful companion but forced live with us when Terri’s mom moved to a condo. Together, Booboo and Gypsy were always social and calm, but would on occasion team up to prey on squirrels or even a muskrat. Mr. Cedar was Terri’s dad’s dog, a lab mix with yellow coat over black skin, who was never without a tennis ball or toy, and seemed to have them hidden everywhere. After Booboo’s untimely demise, enter Blackberry II/Booboo, a pure black lab female we got ostensibly to assuage our sadness over the loss of Booboo I, but in reality to help Gypsy break out of her deep depression over the loss of her sister. Booboo II has the sweetest face and eyes ever, but was born “old” and never hurries her plus-sized body and or misses an opportunity to sit down while the rest of us are trying to take a walk. Lastly, Philomena (a.k.a., Philly), is a pure American female lab who barks enough to wake the dead when its time for a walk and loves the tennis ball, but can never remember where she set the ball down even less than a minute ago. Also, without a ball she becomes shy and hides in our bedroom. Booboo II and Philly are the last of our labs.
This veritable Labrador parade took a turn about 8 years ago when we got Zizi, a brindle Cairn terrier. Terri’s brother had switched from labs to Cairns several years previously, and so Terri also became enamored of Cairns. Terri wanted a little female, but to my chagrin it proved much more difficult than I imaged to find a breeder with a little female available that was not already spoken for in advance. Finally, I found a breeder (a veterinarian and his wife who loved little Cairns) and was able to bring home Zizi. Almost immediately, Zizi became to Terri as Toto was to Dorothy. We were apprehensive about how such a little dog could fit in with the big dogs, Booboo II and Philly. Not to worry! Zizi immediately showed that she was an alpha female, by cowing both much larger dogs, as she continues to do.
Enter Rooster Cogburn. My eldest daughter Reet became interested in getting a rescue Cairn. She and Terri began looking into rescue adoption. Before long mission creep set in, since it would not be practical for Reet to have a dog yet, but Terri and I would be adopting!
As we already had three dogs, I was not really in favor of the idea of a fourth. If we were going to have another dog, I wanted a female since our male dogs all had the urge to wander, and the females have all been homebodies. I also did not want an older dog, set in his/her ways, and certainly did not want a “special needs” dog. So, of course, the first dog up for adoption that caught Terri’s fancy was Rooster Cogburn. Terri is a big John Wayne fan, and just kept gravitating back to Rooster. I did have to admit his picture looked pretty cute, as his foster mother Bobbie had attired him in cowboy hat and kerchief. But 7 years old, one-eyed, history of kidney stones requiring special diet and distilled water… Ugh! Since the adoption process took some time, I figured that by the time we got through it, Rooster would already be spoken for. Wrong again.
So home Rooster came, from Georgia to Virginia. He came with the cowboy hat, kerchief, and little blanket that had images of wild horses on it that foster mom Bobbie had gotten for him. By phone, Terri advised me that he was sweet and wonderful. Reet, and my middle daughter Trish, opined the same. Our friend Gretchen said he was adorable. He was also smelly, had bad breath, and on top of everything else had just been diagnosed as having low thyroid and needed to be on replacement medication. The low thyroid explained why he had a thin, scraggly coat. I’m thinking, “How could this get any better?” Oh, yes, he had a big cataract in his “good” eye, and didn’t hear very well.
One of the big warnings about adopting a Cairn was to be prepared for a little dog that generally doesn’t take well to strangers, and tends to adopt one or two people to protect. “Introduce the new Cairn slowly to one person at a time, and be careful as Cairns take a while to warm up to strangers.” As fate would have it, little Rooster arrive the day before my youngest daughter Kathy’s 18th birthday party, with 20-30 friends over (mostly teenage girls). So what happened…?
Well, as you probably already guessed, Rooster was the hit of the party. No keeping him away. Smelly, mangy looking, one eye missing, he was a natural-born party animal who just sauntered up to everyone, looked them in the eye and just demanded to be loved. He got coddled all night long, and also proved that he had serious street smarts by mooching food (but always the high quality meat, no junk). Also, by the end of the evening, Kathy had quickly anointed him with a couple of nicknames that stuck: RooRoo and Roostie Boy.
We quickly learned that Rooster was quite smart, and must have come from a very loving family. On his first ride with Kathy, he scared her by jumping from the passenger’s seat into her lap. Turned out that was his favorite place to ride. Housebroken, he never had an accident. And, unbelievably, Rooster didn’t bark! In the entire time we had him he only barked a handful of times: wanting to play with another dog at the dog park 2-3 times; a couple of times when one of the big labs stepped on his paw; and once when he had to tell Zizi to back off. That’s only 5-6 times. Ever.
Bobbie had told Terri that Rooster was attached to her husband, and loved to sit with him. So Terri warned me that Rooster would be looking to spend time with me. I was skeptical, but sure enough it was true. A regular part of my day was the drive to and from the dog park for a walk, and all Rooster wanted to do was sit in my lap. And pretty soon, every song that played on the radio I would be singing to him, changing the lyrics to always include Rooster or one of his nicknames. He also liked to sleep next to me, and loved most of all if I held him cradled like a baby, and with his right ear against my heart would almost invariably fall asleep immediately. And he would lay there, completely relaxed, and his breathing sounded just like an infant’s.
Rooster became a fixture in our lives, and even though he was a special needs dog, taking care of his special needs became our pleasure. Twice daily thyroid, baths that became an almost weekly necessity to keep him relatively odor-free, distilled water for him only to keep kidney stones from coming back. We did it and didn’t mind, because he turned out to the easiest dog we ever had.
From a health standpoint, though, Rooster was always fragile. Fortunately, with time his coat came in full and luxurious. We found that his smelliness was from eczema, and frequent bathing with dandruff shampoo really helped. When on a walk, he would often break into his unique “Roostie trot,” and occasionally run a bit. But Rooster seemed to realize that his place was with us where he was loved and protected. Since he couldn’t see well with his one “good” right eye, and his hearing was also poor, we would often find him someplace around the house or yard, standing very still, and searching for us. Once he knew where we were, he would trot over with a big smile. He was comforted by being on the lead, knowing that he was attached to us.
One of the best things about Rooster was that he always seemed to be drinking in life, with a uniquely serene manner. When asleep, he was the most relaxed dog I’ve ever seen. He loved to stroll around the backyard in the sunshine, his little face turned upward as if he were taking it all in. He always got along well with the other dogs, but in many ways was almost oblivious to them. When I would come home from work, after the other dogs had quieted down from mobbing me, Rooster would amble over to be picked up and hugged, and just seemed to luxuriate in the moment. We also discovered this last summer that Rooster like to swim! Terri was walking him along the water on a bay out on Long Island, when he walked into the water and began paddling about. (The beach there at the bay was very shallow with no waves, and you’d have to walk out 30-40 feet before the water got to your knees). He was so happy, and seemed to be recalling a past when he was young, spirited, and could see. After than, he went swimming many times.
Rooster was a true character, with a few peccadilloes. He hated the rain, and refused to go out in it always. (We think he spent too many nights caught out in bad weather, alone, before he was rescued.) He did not like cold or snow. He would get cold very easily, and needed to wear a t-shirt, sweater or little coat whenever the temperature dropped below 50 outside. He actually liked getting a bath, and when the temperature was cold would stand still be dried with a blow dryer. He seemed to love to wear the little varsity letterman’s coat Terri got for him. But when he decided he didn’t want to have a sweater or coat put on him, he would lope around the living room and the kitchen trying to evade (which would always get us laughing). He didn’t eat cheese of any kind. He was a picky eater, who would eagerly eat something one day but turn his nose up at the same thing the next day. But, he loved carrots.
Over the last several months, Rooster seemed to be losing more vision in his right eye, and we had in mind that when he got to the point that he had no useful vision of any kind we would see about having his cataract removed. He also became a pickier eater, and we tried all kinds of strategies to get him to eat and keep weight on. We did find out that his amylase was elevated, indicating that he had some low grade pancreatitis going on. So we watched his diet, sticking with the lean meats that he liked. And he seemed to be doing well.
Rooster took ill during the last few days in August. He would have spells when he obviously just didn’t feel well, not wanting to eat, but always drinking water. Then he’d rebound and get better. His symptoms were similar to what we’d seen before, and he always rallied. We discussed it with our vet, and continued care per her recommendations. On an early September day, he had a good morning, acting pretty much his usual self. In the evening, though, he had another spell of not feeling well. I held him in his favorite position, right ear on my heart, for about 2 hours. We determined to take him to the vet in the morning. Unfortunately, at around 11 p.m., Rooster had a seizure. Terri and I both knew that this probably meant his pancreatitis had become full blown that day, and the outlook was grim. Together, we held him and stoked him and told him we loved him and it was OK if it was his time. He relaxed, and looked at us with his one eye as if to say, “I don’t want to go, but I have to.” And in about 20 minutes, he was gone.
Afterward, as we held him for many minutes, he was very relaxed and at peace. He had just been groomed a few days before, and was as handsome as I’d ever seen him. We placed him on his favorite little bed, put on his little cowboy hat and kerchief, and covered him with the little blanket with the wild horses on it. And that’s how we buried him.
Rooster was a quiet, gentle soul who came into our lives peacefully, and left peacefully. He never barked, whined, complained, or gave any indication that anything was ever wrong. He had a huge heart, his little being emanating a boundless capacity for joy and love, and he always seemed in a state of serene self-possession. As Terri said, “He never caused anyone any harm or trouble.” We knew he must have come from a loving home somewhere. We marveled at how he ever could have come to be lost. Some other family must have been heartbroken, and we often wondered what stories Rooster might tell. After his experiences of being lost and rescued, we knew he was fragile, but expected to have him for at least 4 or 5 more years. But his poor little body just wore out.
Personally, Rooster is still with me. He was so quiet, I often wanted to bring him to work with me so he could sleep under my desk, but knew that would not be looked upon kindly in a federal office building. Terri and I can still see him sleeping on one of the little beds or stretching out in the sun in the yard, and keep expecting him to quietly pop up like he always did. I keep his collar and another little kerchief around the lamp on my dresser, and I put his collar on my golf bag when I go golfing. No matter how good or bad any day may be, “What would Rooster do?” is always a comforting thought. Put your face to the sun and feel for a breeze, just like every day was a bright spring day.
One image that continues to be top of mind, though, is from this last summer. As I was walking Rooster, Zizi, Philly and Booboo by the bay, we met up with a nice couple, a fireman and a nurse, and their children really became enamored of Rooster. The 10-year old towhead boy immediately bonded with Rooster. I told the lad that Rooster might be smelly today, and with a smile he took whiff and said “Not so bad!” His freckle-faced, redheaded adorable little sister of about 4 cuddled with Rooster next, and he became her little living, breathing plush toy dog. When we finally had to leave, as we walked to the car and drove off, the two children each continued to shout over and over, “Goodbye Rooster. I miss you. I love you.”
Me, too.
Terri and I have had dogs almost our whole marriage. We started with Mr. Creole, a sleek and muscular American black lab-mix we got in Charleston, SC, who was a devilishly charming and swashbuckling gadabout and always looking for ways to escape and meet up with the ladies. Tanqueray, a pure yellow lab of the English habitus, was sweet and gentle and always Creole’s hapless follower. Blackberry, a.k.a. Booboo, was a gentle, faithful female black lab-bull terrier mix. Her sister Gypsy was Terri’s mom’s dog, a wise and loving and faithful companion but forced live with us when Terri’s mom moved to a condo. Together, Booboo and Gypsy were always social and calm, but would on occasion team up to prey on squirrels or even a muskrat. Mr. Cedar was Terri’s dad’s dog, a lab mix with yellow coat over black skin, who was never without a tennis ball or toy, and seemed to have them hidden everywhere. After Booboo’s untimely demise, enter Blackberry II/Booboo, a pure black lab female we got ostensibly to assuage our sadness over the loss of Booboo I, but in reality to help Gypsy break out of her deep depression over the loss of her sister. Booboo II has the sweetest face and eyes ever, but was born “old” and never hurries her plus-sized body and or misses an opportunity to sit down while the rest of us are trying to take a walk. Lastly, Philomena (a.k.a., Philly), is a pure American female lab who barks enough to wake the dead when its time for a walk and loves the tennis ball, but can never remember where she set the ball down even less than a minute ago. Also, without a ball she becomes shy and hides in our bedroom. Booboo II and Philly are the last of our labs.
This veritable Labrador parade took a turn about 8 years ago when we got Zizi, a brindle Cairn terrier. Terri’s brother had switched from labs to Cairns several years previously, and so Terri also became enamored of Cairns. Terri wanted a little female, but to my chagrin it proved much more difficult than I imaged to find a breeder with a little female available that was not already spoken for in advance. Finally, I found a breeder (a veterinarian and his wife who loved little Cairns) and was able to bring home Zizi. Almost immediately, Zizi became to Terri as Toto was to Dorothy. We were apprehensive about how such a little dog could fit in with the big dogs, Booboo II and Philly. Not to worry! Zizi immediately showed that she was an alpha female, by cowing both much larger dogs, as she continues to do.
Enter Rooster Cogburn. My eldest daughter Reet became interested in getting a rescue Cairn. She and Terri began looking into rescue adoption. Before long mission creep set in, since it would not be practical for Reet to have a dog yet, but Terri and I would be adopting!
As we already had three dogs, I was not really in favor of the idea of a fourth. If we were going to have another dog, I wanted a female since our male dogs all had the urge to wander, and the females have all been homebodies. I also did not want an older dog, set in his/her ways, and certainly did not want a “special needs” dog. So, of course, the first dog up for adoption that caught Terri’s fancy was Rooster Cogburn. Terri is a big John Wayne fan, and just kept gravitating back to Rooster. I did have to admit his picture looked pretty cute, as his foster mother Bobbie had attired him in cowboy hat and kerchief. But 7 years old, one-eyed, history of kidney stones requiring special diet and distilled water… Ugh! Since the adoption process took some time, I figured that by the time we got through it, Rooster would already be spoken for. Wrong again.
So home Rooster came, from Georgia to Virginia. He came with the cowboy hat, kerchief, and little blanket that had images of wild horses on it that foster mom Bobbie had gotten for him. By phone, Terri advised me that he was sweet and wonderful. Reet, and my middle daughter Trish, opined the same. Our friend Gretchen said he was adorable. He was also smelly, had bad breath, and on top of everything else had just been diagnosed as having low thyroid and needed to be on replacement medication. The low thyroid explained why he had a thin, scraggly coat. I’m thinking, “How could this get any better?” Oh, yes, he had a big cataract in his “good” eye, and didn’t hear very well.
One of the big warnings about adopting a Cairn was to be prepared for a little dog that generally doesn’t take well to strangers, and tends to adopt one or two people to protect. “Introduce the new Cairn slowly to one person at a time, and be careful as Cairns take a while to warm up to strangers.” As fate would have it, little Rooster arrive the day before my youngest daughter Kathy’s 18th birthday party, with 20-30 friends over (mostly teenage girls). So what happened…?
Well, as you probably already guessed, Rooster was the hit of the party. No keeping him away. Smelly, mangy looking, one eye missing, he was a natural-born party animal who just sauntered up to everyone, looked them in the eye and just demanded to be loved. He got coddled all night long, and also proved that he had serious street smarts by mooching food (but always the high quality meat, no junk). Also, by the end of the evening, Kathy had quickly anointed him with a couple of nicknames that stuck: RooRoo and Roostie Boy.
We quickly learned that Rooster was quite smart, and must have come from a very loving family. On his first ride with Kathy, he scared her by jumping from the passenger’s seat into her lap. Turned out that was his favorite place to ride. Housebroken, he never had an accident. And, unbelievably, Rooster didn’t bark! In the entire time we had him he only barked a handful of times: wanting to play with another dog at the dog park 2-3 times; a couple of times when one of the big labs stepped on his paw; and once when he had to tell Zizi to back off. That’s only 5-6 times. Ever.
Bobbie had told Terri that Rooster was attached to her husband, and loved to sit with him. So Terri warned me that Rooster would be looking to spend time with me. I was skeptical, but sure enough it was true. A regular part of my day was the drive to and from the dog park for a walk, and all Rooster wanted to do was sit in my lap. And pretty soon, every song that played on the radio I would be singing to him, changing the lyrics to always include Rooster or one of his nicknames. He also liked to sleep next to me, and loved most of all if I held him cradled like a baby, and with his right ear against my heart would almost invariably fall asleep immediately. And he would lay there, completely relaxed, and his breathing sounded just like an infant’s.
Rooster became a fixture in our lives, and even though he was a special needs dog, taking care of his special needs became our pleasure. Twice daily thyroid, baths that became an almost weekly necessity to keep him relatively odor-free, distilled water for him only to keep kidney stones from coming back. We did it and didn’t mind, because he turned out to the easiest dog we ever had.
From a health standpoint, though, Rooster was always fragile. Fortunately, with time his coat came in full and luxurious. We found that his smelliness was from eczema, and frequent bathing with dandruff shampoo really helped. When on a walk, he would often break into his unique “Roostie trot,” and occasionally run a bit. But Rooster seemed to realize that his place was with us where he was loved and protected. Since he couldn’t see well with his one “good” right eye, and his hearing was also poor, we would often find him someplace around the house or yard, standing very still, and searching for us. Once he knew where we were, he would trot over with a big smile. He was comforted by being on the lead, knowing that he was attached to us.
One of the best things about Rooster was that he always seemed to be drinking in life, with a uniquely serene manner. When asleep, he was the most relaxed dog I’ve ever seen. He loved to stroll around the backyard in the sunshine, his little face turned upward as if he were taking it all in. He always got along well with the other dogs, but in many ways was almost oblivious to them. When I would come home from work, after the other dogs had quieted down from mobbing me, Rooster would amble over to be picked up and hugged, and just seemed to luxuriate in the moment. We also discovered this last summer that Rooster like to swim! Terri was walking him along the water on a bay out on Long Island, when he walked into the water and began paddling about. (The beach there at the bay was very shallow with no waves, and you’d have to walk out 30-40 feet before the water got to your knees). He was so happy, and seemed to be recalling a past when he was young, spirited, and could see. After than, he went swimming many times.
Rooster was a true character, with a few peccadilloes. He hated the rain, and refused to go out in it always. (We think he spent too many nights caught out in bad weather, alone, before he was rescued.) He did not like cold or snow. He would get cold very easily, and needed to wear a t-shirt, sweater or little coat whenever the temperature dropped below 50 outside. He actually liked getting a bath, and when the temperature was cold would stand still be dried with a blow dryer. He seemed to love to wear the little varsity letterman’s coat Terri got for him. But when he decided he didn’t want to have a sweater or coat put on him, he would lope around the living room and the kitchen trying to evade (which would always get us laughing). He didn’t eat cheese of any kind. He was a picky eater, who would eagerly eat something one day but turn his nose up at the same thing the next day. But, he loved carrots.
Over the last several months, Rooster seemed to be losing more vision in his right eye, and we had in mind that when he got to the point that he had no useful vision of any kind we would see about having his cataract removed. He also became a pickier eater, and we tried all kinds of strategies to get him to eat and keep weight on. We did find out that his amylase was elevated, indicating that he had some low grade pancreatitis going on. So we watched his diet, sticking with the lean meats that he liked. And he seemed to be doing well.
Rooster took ill during the last few days in August. He would have spells when he obviously just didn’t feel well, not wanting to eat, but always drinking water. Then he’d rebound and get better. His symptoms were similar to what we’d seen before, and he always rallied. We discussed it with our vet, and continued care per her recommendations. On an early September day, he had a good morning, acting pretty much his usual self. In the evening, though, he had another spell of not feeling well. I held him in his favorite position, right ear on my heart, for about 2 hours. We determined to take him to the vet in the morning. Unfortunately, at around 11 p.m., Rooster had a seizure. Terri and I both knew that this probably meant his pancreatitis had become full blown that day, and the outlook was grim. Together, we held him and stoked him and told him we loved him and it was OK if it was his time. He relaxed, and looked at us with his one eye as if to say, “I don’t want to go, but I have to.” And in about 20 minutes, he was gone.
Afterward, as we held him for many minutes, he was very relaxed and at peace. He had just been groomed a few days before, and was as handsome as I’d ever seen him. We placed him on his favorite little bed, put on his little cowboy hat and kerchief, and covered him with the little blanket with the wild horses on it. And that’s how we buried him.
Rooster was a quiet, gentle soul who came into our lives peacefully, and left peacefully. He never barked, whined, complained, or gave any indication that anything was ever wrong. He had a huge heart, his little being emanating a boundless capacity for joy and love, and he always seemed in a state of serene self-possession. As Terri said, “He never caused anyone any harm or trouble.” We knew he must have come from a loving home somewhere. We marveled at how he ever could have come to be lost. Some other family must have been heartbroken, and we often wondered what stories Rooster might tell. After his experiences of being lost and rescued, we knew he was fragile, but expected to have him for at least 4 or 5 more years. But his poor little body just wore out.
Personally, Rooster is still with me. He was so quiet, I often wanted to bring him to work with me so he could sleep under my desk, but knew that would not be looked upon kindly in a federal office building. Terri and I can still see him sleeping on one of the little beds or stretching out in the sun in the yard, and keep expecting him to quietly pop up like he always did. I keep his collar and another little kerchief around the lamp on my dresser, and I put his collar on my golf bag when I go golfing. No matter how good or bad any day may be, “What would Rooster do?” is always a comforting thought. Put your face to the sun and feel for a breeze, just like every day was a bright spring day.
One image that continues to be top of mind, though, is from this last summer. As I was walking Rooster, Zizi, Philly and Booboo by the bay, we met up with a nice couple, a fireman and a nurse, and their children really became enamored of Rooster. The 10-year old towhead boy immediately bonded with Rooster. I told the lad that Rooster might be smelly today, and with a smile he took whiff and said “Not so bad!” His freckle-faced, redheaded adorable little sister of about 4 cuddled with Rooster next, and he became her little living, breathing plush toy dog. When we finally had to leave, as we walked to the car and drove off, the two children each continued to shout over and over, “Goodbye Rooster. I miss you. I love you.”
Me, too.
