Cosmo, a dear canine friend, left this Earth on June 14, 2010, deeply saddening those of us who knew and loved him. Cos was the kind of dog that easily found his way into the heart of anyone he deemed worthy of his company, which was mostly everyone. He was a great, big, lovable mutt. He was very special.
Most dogs are chosen by their owners at the pet shop, at the pound, or via private puppy transactions. Cosmo, on the other hand, actually chose his owner, R.D., showing up at the front door one evening back in the late 1990s. R.D. was between dogs at the time; thus, the situation was ripe for an ad hoc adoption. Cos was a youthful hound, but he unfortunately displayed evidence of prior abuse. R.D. has long pondered, but never really knew, whence Cosmo came and what were the circumstances of his early life and subsequent liberation.
R.D. cleaned him up, got him his shots and his flea and tick treatments, and began a man/dog relationship that far exceeded what the bearded, pony tailed, latter day hippie ever thought himself capable of enjoying. R.D., an industrial engineer and partner in an entrepreneurial venture, had recently retired from full-time work, which allowed plenty of time for bonding with Cosmo. The two were fast friends and traveling companions. R.D. took Cosmo with him on road trips to Virginia, Pennsylvania, and California, among many other places. When they were here in their hometown of Orlando they quickly grooved a routine. They had their daily, early morning walk around one of the scenic lakes close to home, where Cosmo made friends with other dogs and functioned as a babe magnet for R.D. They would play together in the back yard in the afternoon. Although R.D., a bachelor, lived alone, he was never lonely. Cosmo was always there keeping him company.
I met Cosmo back in 2003 when I had been hiking quite a bit in the aftermath of rehabilitation following hip replacement surgery. I invited R.D. to come hike with me. He asked if he could bring Cos. That was the start of Cosmo’s prolific hiking career, the beginning of fun times for the three of us, and eventually, for several others who joined the hiking group. He put a plethora of miles on those paw pads, not only in Florida, but also in the mountains of North Carolina and wherever else R.D. took him when a hiking opportunity arose.
Cosmo turned out to be a wonderful hiking companion. Whenever he gleaned that R.D. was loading him into the car for a hiking excursion he grew happily excited. When he saw me he knew it meant he would be hiking — and I was equally happy to see him. He loved it out there among the pines, oaks, and palmettos; the cypress swamps; the sandhills; and the pastures. Our hikes were always great fun for man and beast.
On any given hike Cosmo loved to get under my skin by walking in front of me and gradually slowing down. He wanted to set a slower pace, but I wouldn’t let him get away with it. I’d goose him in his vestigial, neutered testicles with my hiking stick and give him a playful but meanass “grrrrrrr” to speed him up, but his memory was short and he soon would fall in once again ahead of me, not to be denied the joy of hearing me complain behind him.
When I sometimes separated from the group, stopping to check something out or take a picture, and was out of visual contact Cosmo would frequently jog on back to where I was and give me a look that said, “What the hell are you doing back here when everyone else is up there?” Sometimes we all would stop to look for a Geocache or gaze at the scenery. ???? ?????? ??? If we dawdled too long, Cosmo would stand there giving us sad eyes and crying, exhorting us to get our asses in gear and resume the hike.
It seemed as if Cosmo was always wanting to go slower or faster. In other words, he was one of us, and he wanted to give us a hard time, just as we human members of the group did to each other while hiking.
I sometimes worried about the dog when he flirted with danger, for example, wading in rivers and creeks known to be infested with large alligators. He was oblivious to the danger. But somehow, Ol’ Gator Bait survived those dips, which now seem innocuous in retrospect. One particularly worrisome time was Cosmo’s foray into Florida quicksand — the black, gooey mud that sucks you in and doesn’t let you out. ???? ???? ??? ???? As Cos sank into the mud up to his hips, he gave us all the most confused and helpless look I ever saw. One of our party, a joker whose name will not be mentioned but who will probably read this, suggested that the hike was so strenuous and debilitating that Cosmo’s intent was to commit suicide in the quicksand. Fortunately, Cosmo’s attentive master was able to extricate him from the mire. (See photo at top for the muddied “after” picture. ???? ????????? bwin )
The Cos was a bit of a dog elitist in that he didn’t engage in much cross species fraternization. While we hiked through a cow pasture several years ago a hefty calf came bounding over to play with Cosmo, but the perturbed dog could only shoo the young bovine away with a warning growl. Another time we stopped next to a pasture where a friendly donkey was waiting by the fence for people to pet and feed it. I had read somewhere that dogs and donkeys are notorious for having antagonistic relationships, and this dog/donkey matchup was no exception. Cosmo’s wary look and “don’t screw with me” warning growl ended that friendship before it began.
Cosmo didn’t do any tricks and he didn’t play fetch. He regarded that kind of foolishness as puppy stuff. He had other, more serious responsibilities to discharge in keeping us foolish humans out of harm’s way. His only pseudo-trick was understanding that when R.D. said, “Have a seat,” it meant that he should sit and wait for a dog biscuit to be tossed within jaw snapping distance. When he was playing lead dog to our ragtag hiking group, he also seemed to understand that when I said “No, Cosmo. Wrong trail,” he should take the other trail; usually, he did.
Cos had a couple of unfathomable quirks. For example, on one of our early hikes R.D. brought along a machete to assist us in bushwhacking. As we made our way through the palmettos and vines, our canine friend laid low, creeping along perhaps 50 feet behind us and out of sight in the bushes. He was clearly uncomfortable with the machete, which as a result we did not bring to subsequent hikes. Also, Cosmo had a thing about not following us into sinkholes. On several occasions at different sinkholes the crybaby hung around the rim looking down at us and whining. However, Cos was mostly brave, even out of his element. He handled the Mt. Mitchell trail in North Carolina quite happily in spite of lots of granite rocks, unsure footing, and elevation changes of thousands of feet. He even had energy left when we reached the summit. I sure as hell didn’t.
Cosmo loved a hearty pat on the ribs and a little roughhousing headlock or an ear boxing. If he didn’t get the attention he wanted from me, he would rub his big head against my thigh and prod my hand with his big, cold nose, looking up at me as if to say, “C’mon, already! You know the routine!” Indeed, I did. I could never resist his affectionate solicitations.
And so it was that Cosmo became the hiking and Geocaching mutt that we will always remember. He was always ready for a hike, even through mid-2009, as his “man years” equivalent age eclipsed the ages of his sexagenarian owner and me by a considerable margin.
Later in life our canine buddy was hampered by various ailments, the most serious requiring surgery for some cancerous growths on his flank. After the surgical wound healed, he was right back out on the trail with us, conducting his important trailblazing, protection, and herding business as usual. But his face and his whiskers were growing whiter and other ailments started to creep in, slowly claiming his vitality. Eventually, Cosmo could not hike in the heat and his endurance withered. He could no longer manage the 12 mile hikes he had loved to share with us. He began to limp. R.D. took him to a holistic vet, a massage therapist, and an acupuncturist. They provided some temporary relief, but eventually, Cosmo even had to skip the morning walk around the lake that he loved so much, and hiking was completely out of the question. In the end, the beloved animal had trouble just standing up, and could take only a few steps when he did. Sadly, R.D. knew that the time had come for Cosmo’s suffering to end.
I’ve written eulogies before, but I’ve never written a paragraph that brought tears to my eyes and heaviness to my heart like the preceding one. Cosmo, you were loved by so many of us, and I’m happy that you are in a better place, gleefully hiking, chasing rabbits and armadillos, and taking that morning walk around the most beautiful lake ever. Rest in peace, old buddy. Perhaps one day when we meet again we can have some nice hikes together.
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The Redhead says
What a beautiful tribute. I never had the pleasure of meeting Cosmo but I’ve enjoyed hearing stories about him and looking at photos of him through the years. He sounds like he was a wonderful companion and dedicated hiker. May he rest in peace.
The Nittany Turkey says
He was indeed special, and he will have a special place in the hearts of all who knew him, eternally.
—TNT
Atificially Sweetened says
Aww, Ben, you made me cry, too. One of my favorite memories of hiking with Cosmo happened at Lower Wekiva Preserve, when he found a solitary black mud patch and waded through it. It looked so good, I took my hiking shoes off and did the same. And he was always so positive. Only once can I remember him thinking that fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
The Nittany Turkey says
I almost put that “muddy feet” picture (yours and his) in the remembrance post, but his face wasn’t in it, so I decided not to. There were so many memories I couldn’t put them all in. One of them was the time we had to ford Rock Springs Run on our Northwest Passage hike. As we all waded across the cool, waist deep water, Cosmo hung back at the canoe put-in, not wanting to get his little footsies wet. Finally, after you failed in cajoling him to join us, R.D. had to wade back across the creek, pick him up, put him in the water, and guide him with the leash to get Cosmo to swim to the far bank. The look of terror on his face while swimming was priceless. Of course, I have a picture of it. Once he got to our side, he shook himself off and completely forgot about the harrowing experience. He was ready to look for the pine trees and the more open area ahead.
—TNT
rd says
I remember that hike and the solemn vow that Rock Springs Run would be no higher than calf-high as you explained the day’s route. Cosmo and I were astonished when we learned it was calf-high for an elephant…
The Nittany Turkey says
A slight miscalculation, which will no doubt destroy my credibility as a trail guide forever. However, Cosmo’s instincts were always dependable.
rd says
You have a remarkable memory! Thanks for capturing some of the best moments of a companion I shall dearly miss. I’ve looked after several dogs and been privileged to know many more. Cosmo stood at the front of the pack. He had a soft manner and a warm heart that touched most who knew him. Thanks for remembering.
The Nittany Turkey says
Thank you, R.D., for allowing me the privilege of having known Cosmo.
—TNT
don says
That really makes me sad. I really enjoyed his company and will miss him very much.
RD – thanks for sharing him with us.
Don
overrover says
Thank you for sharing this story, Ben. R.D., I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. I know Phoenix, Dagger and I had the privilege of hiking/geocaching with Cos, R.D. and Ben on quite a few occasions – one being the Bushwack of Death March in the Seminole State Forest. Phoenix is now 12.5 and Dagger just turned 10 and I treat every day that I have with them as a blessing! Cosmo couldn’t have chosen a better door to show up at on that fateful day.
rd says
Cosmo always enjoyed human and canine companions, especially during the geo-caching hikes. Your treats and hugs were always appreciated (and, of course, never sufficient ;-}).
The Nittany Turkey says
Fortunately, Cosmo, Phoenix, Dagger, and Bailey did not have to complete the death march with us. As I recall, once the brush got thick, you decided that the palmettos would be hitting poor Phoenix right in the face and you didn’t want him to have to put up with that. Therefore, it was decided that R.D. would dog-sit in a shady, but somewhat open spot, while we three idiots (Jon, you, and I) trudged on in the Bushwhack of Death. When we returned, they were all shady and happy; we were all scratched up and sweaty.
The dogs got further revenge when we returned to my Grand Cherokee, in which we had left a plastic bag containing dog turds picked up from the pooches’ public pooping. We had been gone four hours while the Jeep sat in the sun, creating a baking oven in the back where the doggie do was. The aroma was very bold upon our ingress to the polluted vehicle.
On the last morning of the Campfire event, you, Andrew, Bob, R.D., Marc, and the dogs set out to find the Kerberos cache, using a more accessible route. I slept in that morning, so I missed it, but I understand that Dagger was lost for a long time, sparking great fears for his mommy.
Mark says
What a wonderful story you have told. I think of Cos as my good buddy, he was a gentle giant like his Dad, and always willing to share what he had. And what he had was a large good nature, courage, humor and understanding of a lot of things human and dog. As a young dog, Cos came to visit in California, I had two Dobie pups at the time, about his age. The three of those dogs romping and racing together was an amazing sight. I hope they are racing together now.
Its always a privilege to be close to a great heart.
The Nittany Turkey says
Hi Mark. Thanks for sharing your memories of Cosmo. I’ve heard the story of Cos and the Dobies from RD a few times; it’s one that makes me smile every time! Cosmo was indeed a great dog with a great heart.
—TNT
Tom and Susanne says
What a wonderful tribute to Cosmo and RD. Thanks Ben! I first met RD (aka Bob) when he hired me to work for him in the early 1980s at Westinghouse. At that time Bob had a wonderful Dalmatian, Rufus, whose passing clearly left a void in Bob’s life. I was so pleased when Bob found and adopted Cos. They were best-buddies. Bob and Cosmo visited us at Companion Camp several times to help with the IT and website for our new business. My fondest memory is of Bob and Cos taking a nap in the spooning position on our living room floor after a nearly all-night computer session. Cosmo was very special to Bob and to all who met him. We still feature Cos on our website (http://www.companioncamp.net/index.html#cosmo). Our deepest sympathies to Bob. Cosmo will truly be missed.
The Nittany Turkey says
Sorry that your comment didn’t get posted until today. Because of the preponderance of spam comments, I filter comments from unregistered users if they contain links to external web sites. Yours made it into the spam pile, which I didn’t check until RD alerted me to the fact that you hadn’t yet seen your comment. Now that I’ve fixed it, I can thank you sincerely for adding to this thread.
—TNT
Leigh says
I miss Cosmo.
I stayed with him a few times. When he’d back against the bed, it was like having a bus back into you. When he’d rest his chin on the mattress, you’d be lucky not to roll off on the floor.
When visiting ‘clingy dog’, he would lean against me, rather like being leaned upon by a collapsing building. If Bob and I chatted too long, he’d run to the door and whine. I’d say, “What? It’s Timmy? Timmy’s trapped in the mine?” It was a good excuse to go outside and check the trees for messages.
Cosmo didn’t like sharing space with my cockatoo, Valentine. When Valentine flew into the room, Cosmo got a disgusted look on his face and stalked out. When Cosmo walked by on his way to his water dish, Valentine would stretch down and take a “Hey, pal!” swipe at the dog. Yet, when burglars parachuted onto the front lawn (or possibly just the newspaper being delivered), Valentine and Cosmo teamed up to deliver a hellacious barking cacophony that kept invaders and Jehovah’s Witnesses at bay.
In his latter days, Cosmo found a girlfriend, or rather she found him. Dump Truck, er, Lucy, was a bulldog who seemed quite taken with her May-December relationship. Cosmo was, well, tolerant, and when Dump Truck crossed his patience line, he let her know, which only augmented her love for him.
You can read about Lucy here. My favorite photo of Cosmo is in the middle of this article– click for the impressive enlargement.
The Nittany Turkey says
Leigh, your prose is always entertaining and I appreciate you sharing your memories of Cosmo here for all who visit this thread. Thanks!
—TNT
P.S.
I’ll add a link to your blog on my blogroll just in case my two regular readers would like some variety.
Leigh says
Thanks, Ben! I appreciate it.
Rebecca says
That is the most detailed eulogy that I have ever read for a canine friend. I have to say it made me smile when I read of the full life he led. But now I am sitting here with tears in my eyes. I hope the people he has left behind don’t miss him too much. x
The Nittany Turkey says
Thanks, Rebecca. I’m sure you would have loved Cosmo.
—TNT
Cristina says
What a wonderful tribute to a wonderful dog! As a fellow dog owner, this tribute to Cosmo hit me straight in the heart. Cosmo definitely brought lots of joy to the humans and non-humans he got in contact with, and he left a lasting impression.
Rainbow Bridge
——————-
There is a bridge connecting heaven and earth
It is called Rainbow Bridge because of its many colours
Just this side of the Rainbow Bridge there is a land of meadows,
hills, valleys with lush green grass
When a beloved pet dies, the pet goes to this special place
There is always food and water and warm spring weather
The old and frail are young again
Those who are maimed are made whole again
They play all day with each other
There is only one thing missing
They are not with their special person who loved them on Earth
So each day they run and play until the day comes
when one suddenly stops playing and looks up !
The nose twitches !
The ears are up !
The eyes are staring !
And this one suddenly runs from the group !
You have been seen, and when you and your special friend meet,
you take him or her into your arms and embrace
your face is kissed again and again,
and you look once more into the eyes of your trusting pet
Then you cross the Rainbow Bridge together, never again to be separated
Author Unknown
The Nittany Turkey says
Very poignant poem, Cristi! A much better fate in the great beyond than 72 virgins. I’m too old to appreciate the virgins, but one is never too old to appreciate an old friend.
—TNT
diane says
Cosmo was a most observant dog. Cracked me up when he came to Delware for Xmas visit and religiously checked out all the places high and low that toys, treats or fuzzies had previously lurked. So what if that fuzzy bag had a camera inside. Crunch. Fuzzy catnip, who needs a lens cap? He went into each room and scanned, floor to ceiling. Never saw another dog do that. Bottom drawer of dining room hutch, diane Im waiting here, open, now. Upstairs in office now, what is that on top of the 6′ bookcase please . . I expected him to turn around with a great big magnifying glass in paw. Cosmo was an entertaining and polite houseguest. I don’t know where he came from but he was a large personality. rd I am very sorry for your loss.
I will dig out my favorite Cosmo photos next week, tune in again.
The Nittany Turkey says
Thanks for your comments, Diane. The inquisitive side of Cosmo usually manifested itself in my presence when something was opened that he thought might contain food for him. This included backpacks, pockets, and Geocaches, The big nose would instantly track its target at close range and then the eyes would ask the perp what he or she did with his food. On the trail, Cos was our canine clean-up crew. Done with that apple core? Toss it to Cos. Did that hard-boiled egg turn out to be soft-boiled? Call Cosmo over to lick the yolk off my pants. He was one helluva food hound!
I look forward to seeing your favorite Cosmo photos!
—TNT