Cookie Chronicles

The first book I ever read cover to cover was Winnie the Pooh by A.A. Milne, and now, many decades later, it remains the best book I ever read. I mention this because the special relationship between Christopher Robin, and Edward Bear, aka Winnie the Pooh, is very much like the relationship I enjoy with my dog Cookie.

Like Pooh, who adored honey, Cookie has a nose for good food, especially bacon, but also whatever happens to be cooking at the moment in the kitchen. And much like Pooh, Cookie has a certain kind of bravery, of the sort that can lead to trouble, despite her best intentions.

Edward Bear was introduced to the world coming downstairs (actually being dragged down the stairs) on the back of his head. And Cookie came to me in much the same way. She was 18 months old, stranded in a neglectful neighbor's yard in the bitter cold, half frozen and filthy, and barking relentlessly. "Sometimes he feels that there really is another way" Milne wrote, and surely Cookie felt that same feeling.

As for me, I would have told anyone who asked I was not a dog person. In fact, I'd had nothing but cats all my adult life, and had no interest in acquiring a dog. Which is why it's fair to say that the dog acquired me.

When Mrs. G. grew tired of my complaining about the constant ear-piercing barking and ran out and grabbed the dog, promising that we'd take her to a friendly kennel in Seattle at the first opportunity, I remained solidly grounded in anti-dog sentiments.

As it happened to be New Year's Eve, it was promised that the first opportunity would be the following day, when we had planned a trip to the city for the holiday weekend. Being the kind soul she is, Karen took it upon herself to wash the poor beast, buy her some food, and settle her down for the night. The barking ceased, though I'm afraid my aggravation did not.

But the dog locked her eyes on me and wouldn't let go. Somehow, she knew that our fates were inextricably entwined. And she also instinctively knew that, come hell or high water, she was going to find a way to be my constant companion.

Sure enough we drove away the following day – New Years Day – with dog in tow. At the time we owned a small condo in the city, and the dog suddenly found herself in a strange city, with unknown people, riding an elevator to a fourth floor flat, where she was placed in a kennel and bunked down for the night.

Not a peep. Not a bark. The night passed quietly, and in the early morning, as we rode the elevator back down to the street, she waited patiently to do her business, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

As it was a holiday and the pound was closed, we decided to take the dog to a nearby park for some exercise. Across the street was a pet store which was open, and we purchased a few dog things, including a ball. I don't remember exactly what sort of a ball it was, but when we returned to the park and tossed the ball around it became clear that it was the right thing to do, and the game was on. At about that time I began to think about naming the dog.

There was no real logic to naming a dog I planned to abandon the next day, but somehow it seemed important. Having been given a bath, some decent food, and playtime for maybe the first time ever, it was easier to see that this was a blonde dog, not a dirty brown mutt. Yes there were the mismatched ears, bowlegged stance, and traces of frostbite on what was otherwise a rather pretty little face. As we later discovered, she was a terrier/poodle/chihuahua mix. At the time she was simply a high energy, joyful little tornado.

Simply based on her mix of white blond, tawny blond and darker caramel fur, I began proposing names such as biscuit and muffin. But when a friend suggested Cookie, it was instantly apparent that Cookie was the right name. And also apparent that Cookie was going to come back home to Waitsburg with us, and I was going to have a dog.

To be continued...