When I was a new birdwatcher and Cocoa was a young dog, we would take long walks in the park. The American crows sang “caw caw,” but I translated that to “Cocoa.” I would sing her name to her along with them and told her they were Cocoa birds.
It was mutual love at first sight the day I rescued Cocoa from the pound. She remained, to me, the best of friends. I shared my bed with her almost every night for more than 12 years, which is considerably more than either of my failed marriages. Unconditional love is what you get from a dog; there was no way for us to fail.
My daughter and I sometimes referred to my home here in the mountains as Cocoa’s retirement home. I did my best to keep her happy and free from pain. Now that she’s gone, the next chapter is the beginning of a whole new book….
I’m doing lots of laundry and burning sage -- my own personal purification rituals. I even cut off a good deal of my hair, which I’m not sure is related. I’m just about ready to go back out and mingle with friends and make some music.
I’m grateful for every bit of sympathy and love my friends have sent my way over the last few days, so many knew and loved Cocoa.
There aren't a lot of crows for the most part at Catbird Lake, but during Cocoa's transitioning days, they visited frequently and in number -- calling her home.
