"Cosmo"

2003 - April 28, 2008 

Cosmo was a shy dog. In retrospect, he was probably a new soul that took canine form. He was always a little frightened, reluctant, bewildered, but he was as sweet and affectionate as any dog you'd meet. I was watching a documentary on wolves, and of course, he ran out of the living room as he always did because of their howls - and just about any other threatening noise on TV, including suspenseful music - scared him. The documentary described alpha males and beta males, and there was Cosmo at the bottom: the omega, always rolling on his back to show his belly, and hoping you might rub it.

He may have been neutered too early. I don't think he met a dog he didn't like. Or, in fact, any animal he didn't like, except maybe a few cats. He seemed to want to play with the deer that cross through my yard, and oddly enough they moved only far enough away just to look at him. They never feared him because instinct told them he would never harm another animal; he just didn't know how or was simply too gentle. He even thought it was a good idea to play with skunks a couple of times. I'm not even really sure he learned it wasn't. I suspect he would have done it again. Thank goodness he never spotted a porcupine.

Cosmo wasn't a dog that was comfortable playing with toys or other dogs, though. He loved chasing a tennis ball and kissing your face and sitting out on the lawn. I used to joke he was half deer. He looked a bit like one.

I drove a long way to get him. For better or worse, I wanted a dog like my previous dog, an oversized male sheltie named Laddie (also memorialized on this site, with a song). People asked me why that breed. Shelties speak with their eyes, they are expressive and compassionate. And truth be told, I love how they smell, how they feel, and they are cuddly on cold nights.

Cosmo was a rescue dog. He had apparently suffered abuse by the family he lived with before me. The most peaceful of animals, he was originally named Sarge and shaven when I got him. It was obvious (from the way he ran from TV shows) he was familiar with the sound of gunshots, shouting, even the click of a gun cocking. My home has overhead can lights with floodlight bulbs. When turned off, they make almost imperceptible clicks as the filaments cool down. That little noise would send Cosmo running from the room, too. His name was a compromise. To me, he looked like a "Simon" - if he had been a human, he certainly would have worn thick glasses - but at that time I was married and his new name had to suit all of us.

It was clear that in his old home he was loved by a woman and over-trained - and probably bullied - by a man. And, I'd heard, tormented by children. He came into my home expecting somewhat of a family and ended up with just me... and I know as much as he relied on me, trusted me (though not fully), and loved me, he was never fully comfortable here with a male. He brought love to my life - the unconditional love only a pet, and especially a very dependent pet, can bring. I also realize he gave my day structure. As much as I hated that he woke up early, especially on cold, wet winter mornings, he gave me reason to go out into the yard to start the day. And to walk him every day at 5 sharp - any sheltie owner knows their dog can tell time. And a quick walk out for a breath of air after dinner and into the darkness at night. I miss the regularity he brought to my schedule, even if it meant I had to come home from a fun night out because, really, he had very small kidneys. :-)

I realize now, too, how scared a dog he was. Every time there was any unusual noise, he would react in some way - usually getting up to run somewhere, to the depths of my office, the back of the most sheltered bathroom - and I would look to make sure he knew I knew he was okay. Some dogs protect their owners, with Cosmo it was always the other way around. Slamming doors, drawers, and dropping things would freak him out, and I got into the habit of doing those things much more gently than my personality would generally dictate.

I did not have Cosmo for very long, about two and two-thirds years. I don't know how old he lived to be, but he was probably about five. His legs went bad and very rapidly he couldn't walk, and was diagnosed with cancer. What a poor, sweet soul. His early life was clearly not happy, and even though I gave him as much love as I had, he came into my life at a difficult time and, I'm sure, absorbed a lot of my stress. He did have a good home but for his own reasons never really settled in fully. A number of friends said he was never meant to be in this world in the first place and chose to leave early.

In my naive fantasies I like to think my previous sheltie, Laddie, a too-courageous alpha, is guiding him in doggie heaven and teaching him the ropes for when he comes back next time.

Goodbye, Cosmo. You were the sweetest.

Scott Calamar

Note from Amy: For those interested in Laddie and hearing his song, you may follow this link-

The Kozenczak Family

Thank you,
Crystal

Having two such emotional losses within a week took a pretty heavy toll on both my mother and me.  Immediately after I went back to work, I began stopping in a pet shop in the mall where I worked; it was more to have some kind of contact with animals than it was actually looking for one to purchase.  A couple of days later, I was talking to the owner of the pet shop; she told me I ought to buy a dog, seeing that my mom and I were pretty much alone.  I had always been a fan of Collies, the most beautiful, even-tempered dogs I had ever known. The prices in that store, however, were out of sight! Even with my employee discount, I would have had to pay about $350. As I was leaving the store that day, a woman followed me out of the store, and asked if I was really interested in a Collie.  I told her I was. She said she didn't have a Collie, but she did have a Sheltie mix she would sell for fifty dollars.  I took her phone number and went home to talk it over with my mom. She was a little leery, but told me she would like to see this dog. I called the lady, and went to pick him up for a visit. I was surprised and a little disappointed to meet the dog whose name was Rusty. He was skin and bones and absolutely covered with ticks. The family had three other dogs, two Aussie shepherds and a Chihuahua. All three of the dogs picked on Rusty, stealing his food and doing anything else they could think of to make his life miserable. The people who owned him just didn't have time for a fourth dog and couldn't protect him from the others. I took him home, noticing for the first time (but not the last) he became verrrry carsick.

After I got him home, I also noticed how shy he was around strangers.  We kept him in the back yard, not wanting to risk infesting the house with all those ticks. Here was where he began to shine. You know how most dogs, when you offer them food from your hand, they'll try to take the food and your hand with it? Well, not Rusty! He was so gentle taking some of Pepper's old food from us, he seemed scared he might hurt us. He was so gentle around my sisters' kids. He love to sit in front of somebody and put his paw up on their knee. Even though we liked him, it was obvious he was not yet comfortable with us.

That evening I took him back to the folks I got him from, and my mom and I discussed what we should do. I don't even remember the gist of the conversation, only that we agreed we would like to give Rusty a chance. The next day I told the folks we would like to take Rusty, and made arrangements to pay them and pick him up. I believe the date was August 9th, 1986: Rusty officially became part of our lives.

After we got him, there were some rough times; the usual chewing of wood and anything else he could get hold of; nothing serious, just annoying. However, we found him to be a very quiet dog. Rarely barked. When he did bark, it was important. He either had to go out NOW, or somebody unknown was around. It was that fall, after the weather had changed to being rather pleasant, Rusty's best qualities surfaced.

I have been a very severe juvenile diabetic since I was 5 years old. I have never (even to this day) been able to control it as well as I would like. That October, I decided to take Rusty on a trip to my sister's cabin in Strawberry, Arizona. Strawberry is a beautiful little town in the pines atop the Mogollon (mug-EE-yon) Rim in central Arizona. The drive there is hazardous: Hairpin turns on cliffs several hundred feet high. While on the drive up there, I began to have a pretty severe hypoglycemic reaction; I was weaving all over the road and probably almost ran off the road several times. I had no idea this was happening. Rusty, despite being extremely carsick, realized something was extremely wrong. He gathered himself together, wormed his way out of the seatbelt harness and climbed onto my lap, forcing me to slow down and pull the car over to the side of the road. I then realized what was going on. This dog, only two months into our relationship, and not trained as any kind of service dog, had just saved my life.

If that were the only time any such thing had happened, it would still be pretty amazing. This dog made a habit of saving my neck. Whenever my blood sugar would get low he would sense it. If I were sitting up, he would come up to me and brush my leg with his paw. If I were asleep, he would stick his nose into my face until I came to. In fact, in the early '90's when I was living alone, there was a stretch of about 10 days when I was in the emergency room 5 times. Every single time Rusty woke me up, made sure I got on the phone to get the paramedics, then waited by the door for them to arrive, occasionally running back to my room to make sure I was okay.

After that episode, my mom and the rest of my family decided I needed to move back in with her. Rusty, of course, came with me. He continued his role as my guardian angel for the rest of his life. He died on March 15, 1999, after a long bout with cancer. The most painful day of my life was the day I realized he wasn't going to be alright. I think I knew he was very ill for several weeks but was in denial. After we had him put to sleep I had him cremated. His ashes are in my computer desk right now. All of my family knows if anything ever happens to me, they are to put his urn in the coffin with me.

Ken Thompson