IN LOVING MEMORY OF
COOPER SEETON
unknown day/month 2011 to July 16, 2022
COOPER SEETON
unknown day/month 2011 to July 16, 2022
It was over ten years ago when I was supposed to be getting my third foster dog. You’d been found dumped along the side of the road near a hunting camp in Kansas. You weren’t even the dog scheduled to be temporarily homed with me, but somehow you showed up in place of the other dog. It quickly became a failed foster placement. I became your forever home and you showed me that home was wherever we were as long as we were together.
You were called a Plott Hound mix. In your early years, everyone asked if you were a Pit. I think you had Pit and maybe some Boxer mixed in.
There are so many things I’m going to miss about you. I’m going to miss the feel of your fur under the palm of my hand as I stroked your flank and neck, and played with your ears. I’m going to miss the feel of your paw in my hand when I cuddled you. There was that tender, gentle feeling when you were softly taking an almond from my hand. Your lips would ever so gently brush my fingers. You chewed all nuts very thoroughly, something you rarely did with other food. You loved treats and I loved how happy it made you.
I loved the way you could see me out of the corner of your eye and would wag your tail every time you caught me looking at you. Sometimes you would just sit there and stare at me for long periods of time. If I smiled at you, you wagged your tail even more.
You had so much to say with your tail. You were thumping it all the time when I talked to you. I loved how you would wag it when I was spoon feeding you some food from a can. I would ask, “Is it yummy?” and you would wag it even faster. Even when you were sick, you managed to wag your tail. Clear up until the last day, you wagged your tail. I'm already missing the sound of your tail against the floor, or wall or whatever it would end up tapping. It was the sound of happiness.
You were called a Plott Hound mix. In your early years, everyone asked if you were a Pit. I think you had Pit and maybe some Boxer mixed in.
There are so many things I’m going to miss about you. I’m going to miss the feel of your fur under the palm of my hand as I stroked your flank and neck, and played with your ears. I’m going to miss the feel of your paw in my hand when I cuddled you. There was that tender, gentle feeling when you were softly taking an almond from my hand. Your lips would ever so gently brush my fingers. You chewed all nuts very thoroughly, something you rarely did with other food. You loved treats and I loved how happy it made you.
I loved the way you could see me out of the corner of your eye and would wag your tail every time you caught me looking at you. Sometimes you would just sit there and stare at me for long periods of time. If I smiled at you, you wagged your tail even more.
You had so much to say with your tail. You were thumping it all the time when I talked to you. I loved how you would wag it when I was spoon feeding you some food from a can. I would ask, “Is it yummy?” and you would wag it even faster. Even when you were sick, you managed to wag your tail. Clear up until the last day, you wagged your tail. I'm already missing the sound of your tail against the floor, or wall or whatever it would end up tapping. It was the sound of happiness.
When we were in the mountains camping, there was that look in your eyes when you grabbed mine after we both heard a sound outside and wondered if we should get up and explore. You read my face for all signs of worry or curiosity as you waited for my signal to either get up and check out things or let it go and sink back into what we had been doing.
I’m going to miss the way you leaned into me when you sat next to me and the way you unconditionally let me pull you backward from a sitting position to gently lay your back against me with your head on my shoulder. The feeling of being unconditionally trusted was so special.
I loved your enthusiasm when I asked if you wanted to go for a walk. You would get so excited and would do your downward doggy over and over as you vocally were telling me to hurry up so we could go.
I’m going to miss the way you leaned into me when you sat next to me and the way you unconditionally let me pull you backward from a sitting position to gently lay your back against me with your head on my shoulder. The feeling of being unconditionally trusted was so special.
I loved your enthusiasm when I asked if you wanted to go for a walk. You would get so excited and would do your downward doggy over and over as you vocally were telling me to hurry up so we could go.
You were a foodie – the biggest foodie I ever knew. You loved all human food except citrus fruits. I called any food a “cookie” and you would do anything for a cookie. You made me laugh when you taught me to give you a cookie in trade for the empty yogurt container or other disposable container that you finished licking. You would hold onto the container and then flip in the air and make all kinds of noise to get my attention and wouldn’t give me the container until I told you I would give you a cookie. As soon as I said those words you would bring me the container and drop it at my feet or place it in my hand.
Every once in a while, I would put treats in your bowl when you went outside and when you came back in all I had to do was say, “Go check your bowl,” and you trotted over to your bowl knowing there was a surprise waiting for you. Your tail did its happy wag.
I loved how I could tell you to go get some water and you would almost always walk over to your bowl and begin lapping it up. I would take you to your favorite meadow and say, “Run!” and you would blast off, but not before wading through your favorite pond.
You learned so many words. I could say ‘turn around’ when we needed to fit in tight spaces and you made more room. I taught you a lot of animal words.
Every once in a while, I would put treats in your bowl when you went outside and when you came back in all I had to do was say, “Go check your bowl,” and you trotted over to your bowl knowing there was a surprise waiting for you. Your tail did its happy wag.
I loved how I could tell you to go get some water and you would almost always walk over to your bowl and begin lapping it up. I would take you to your favorite meadow and say, “Run!” and you would blast off, but not before wading through your favorite pond.
You learned so many words. I could say ‘turn around’ when we needed to fit in tight spaces and you made more room. I taught you a lot of animal words.
You were the best partner a wildlife photographer could have because when we saw animals you didn’t bark and you didn’t chase them. Even when I was photographing a porcupine one time, you left the animal alone and let me spend time photographing her. You could be near a mommy moose with babies or a huge bull moose, and the animals were calm around you because you were calm around them. It was extraordinary. I used sign language to tell you to get behind me and be quiet when I spotted an animal I wanted to photograph. I swear you almost tip toed on those outings during those photoshoots. You would stay behind me until I said you could run.
You’ve been good buddies with cats, ducks and other dogs. You wouldn’t chase my wild chipmunk and ground squirrel friends. You watched as I fed them nuts, one of your favorite foods and never once charged at them.
You learned the word fox very quickly after frequent visits by a darling young fox. When the prairie dogs would give their warning signal you would jump out of a sound sleep to go outside and see if the warning was because the fox was in our yard. Sometimes she was. The way you would prance out of the house and bolt toward the fence between our yard and the fox’s large field behind us was a show of utter excitement and hope. The fox was one of the few animals you barked at.
You learned the word bear very quickly too. You would be quiet if I wanted you to be when a bear came in our yard and we were watching from inside. But if I told you to bark, you couldn’t have been more ferocious. I’ll always remember how you held your ground in our yard when a bear came wondering over at one in the afternoon on an October day. You were five feet from that bear and never quit defending our territory. Fortunately, that bear turned around. After that, you never stopped listening or sniffing for bears. You stood guard outside like it was your duty-bound mission. I can clearly see your nose raised to the air and slightly quivering as you took in the various scents floating in the air. On occasion you growled after sniffing. I knew some wild animal was nearby.
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My daughter (and, boy, did you love her) taught you to use your paws to hold plates and bowls down on the floor so they didn’t scoot away from you. After that, you learned to use your paws to hold all kinds of things. |
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You traveled in a motorhome for six weeks with my mother and me and got to see and feel the Pacific Ocean from California to Washington. You often traveled by water taxi (a small boat) that took us from Anacortes to the San Juan Islands. You camped out with me an entire summer and once lived with me in a motel before we found a place to buy in Washington State. You lived with me when our home got burned down and spent a winter with me on a ranch in Colorado.
You were always such a happy dog and showed a puppy like excitement at almost everything. You were like that clear up to when you were eleven years old. If not for your gray hair, you could have passed for a dog half your age.
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You alerted me to a third bear cub in the forest when we drove by in the Jeep. The mommy bear had crossed the road in front of us with two cubs and one was left in the forest waiting to cross. Had you not spotted the cub and let me know, I would have missed getting my only bear cub photo.
I taught you to speak and not to bark when you needed to tell me you wanted food or to go outside. You would make all the vocal sounds you could figure out short of barking. It always made me laugh and that made you talk even more. You jumped into your downward doggy stance when you had important stuff to say.
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You loved life and you showed that love every single day. I got so much pleasure out of showing you new things and taking you on off-leash walks where you could explore at your own pace. You loved running at the beach near our home on Decatur Island and would run and jump on and over the washed-up trees and drift logs along the shore like you were in the biggest race of your life. Your exuberance and happiness made me laugh with gratitude at the fun you were having. It will always be among my favorite memories. You also loved to run through the forest in Colorado (on our private property) at neck break speeds. You read the trees like a skier reads a mogul run. You ran so fast and turned on a dime to miss a tree or jump over fallen logs. Your love of life was one of my greatest joys. |
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I never could train you not to jump on people as your main greeting. You loved seeing humans and other dogs and your enthusiasm needed more restraint than I ever managed to teach you. But because you came to me as a foster dog, there were some things that were already imprinted in you that were a life-long challenge to change.
You never failed to greet me with unbridled enthusiasm on the rare occasions when you were left at home by yourself. I could be gone 10 minutes or several hours and you responded with equal excitement at my return. You did that every single time. Your whole body, not just your tail, was wagging.
I'm going to miss telling you twenty times a day that I love you and telling you what a good boy you are. I miss our hugs so much. The way you would put your head on my forehead and then leaned over and put your head on my chest or shoulder was priceless. Our bond was like no other I’ve ever had. You made me laugh every single day. A part of me went with you when you died. Of course, I’m forever grateful we found each other and had the time we did, but am so sad that I’ll have to learn to navigate life without you. I loved experiencing how much you enjoyed life. Thanks for being the best co-pilot in life and the best Jeeping buddy ever in your last couple of months. I hope you’re out somewhere running to your heart’s content and that you have an endless supply of cookies.
This was just a for fun mock up of a magazine combining an app with editing techniques.
* Cooper was diagnosed with lymphoma in May. It's a type of incurable blood cancer that caused his lymph nodes to swell all over his body. By his last day, the swelling was immense around his face and neck and he let me know in the most loving way that it was time to go. He was still wagging his tail, but he couldn't drink water or eat. Cancer is so wicked.
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