At 2:40PM, Cookie went to sleep, never to awaken again. The vet gave him a week, two tops, but said he would continue to decline since even when he wasn't coughing from the tumor compressing his windpipe, his lungs weren't exchanging enough oxygen into his system to keep all his bodily functions running, thus why he stopped eating.

Cookie was always happy to meet new people. Didn't matter who you are, he'd get up, all excited, and march over to say hello. Cookie was always happy to see the people he knew, as well. His wagging tail was an unstoppable force.

Cookie was always a sweet mush. His name "Cookie" was because he was sweeter than the sweetest sugar cookie. Until he lost his hearing, I can count the number of times I remember him even barking (let alone growling, which I think he did once, not counting playtime) on one hand.

Cookie was found on the side of the road. My dad has a purple motor scooter which he rides around. Going down one of the back roads, a yellow dog emerged from the woods and came up to him. He was so friendly, and he tried to put his front paws on the scooter to go with him. Dad came screaming home on the scooter and he and I got in the Cressida and went tearing back. We looked for several minutes and couldn't find him. As we were about to get in the car, we heard a rustling in the leaves coming from down the road, and it was his tail hitting the leaves underneath him. We got him in the car and brought him home. We tied him to something outside and offered him some food and water. As a starving pile of skin and bones, he turned and walked away from what could only have been the first food and water he'd had in days when our other dogs growled at him to get away from it. I think it was at that moment that Dad decided he wanted to keep him.

Cookie was always so smart. Dad was cutting down brush on the dam of the pond, using the loppers to cut, then putting them down to move the brush and picking up the loppers again. Until he came back from moving the brush on one pass and went to pick up the loppers to find Cookie had picked them up in his mouth and was handing them to him.

Cookie was also a boy of many nicknames, more than I can recount or remember. The image file above is named "Bunny Nose," for example. Mr. Sweets, Bumpy, Mr. Bumpkin, Mr. Wiggles, on and on.

Before his health started on its decline, he loved to swim. Ride down to the pond and he'd go nose-first straight in. He'd wind up coughing from the water winding up where it shouldn't, but he loved swimming and being in the water. He also liked to go down to the pond on his own, so more than once I can remember him wanting to come in the house but being covered in mud, so we'd have to go out and give him a bath first. He hated the bath (one of the few things that would make his tail stop wagging) but he loved towlie-time afterwards. He'd be all excited to be rubbed all over.

We'll probably never get all his fur out of the house, not that I'm in any hurry to do so.

At least once, Dad came to pick me up from school while I was in Middle School and there was Cookie in the front seat of the Cressida with him. He loved riding in the car.

I remember when Cookie went with us to the beach. The first time he saw sand, he didn't know what it was, so he did what any good detective would, he tried to eat it. After discovering that was a mistake, he went to the nearest water source for a drink. It was quite funny. But the best memory of him at the beach is at the turtle rescue, where Dad and Cookie sat outside while the rest of us went in, and when we came out, they were surrounded by a crowd of little children who were all playing with Cookie. He loved every minute of it.

He ran like a puppy for years after we got him, and he loved playing tug-of-war with his rag, or running around in circles. He was always energetic with a big appetite and always anxious to have some bread or muenster cheese, though you had to watch that you didn't lose a finger, and if you gave him something loose like tomato sauce, you'd have to clean up the nearest floor and/or wall afterwards.

Cookie always had to be near us, Daddy in particular. Come up to him and the tail would wag very hard and he'd roll onto his back so you could scratch him. When we'd leave to go shopping or on vacation without him or to school or wherever, he'd sit on the side porch with a very depressed look. When we got home, he'd be excitedly jumping around the car. In the house, he always had to be near somebody, within earshot at least (when he could hear). When he got to where he had trouble getting up, he would bark to make sure we knew he was there and to make sure we helped him get over to where we were. (Particularly at dinner time, since he didn't want to miss a treat.)

Despite not having a mean bone in his body, Cookie was a fighter. Last spring, the vet(s) gave him 3-6 months to live, 9 tops. He lived 17 months. This was after living through heartworm treatment right after we found him, which for those who don't know is very taxing and dangerous, and for another 11 years after that ordeal.

Whoever owned him before us clearly did not love him, as despite putting "Found" ads in the local paper, nobody ever claimed him. I don't know how they could have not loved him as he was so very perfect in every way except his health, which was pretty much the former owner's fault in the first place for leaving him on his own to die. But I can rest easy knowing that we gave him a home and took care of him and let him live another 11 wonderful years and without allowing him to experience any unnecessary pain.

"Suddenly you were gone
From all the lives you left your mark upon..." -- Rush "Afterimage"

Goodbye Cookie, we love you and always will.