Coco the Fugitive

It’s not easy naming a pet; usually a lot of thought has to go into it. There are even websites to help people find the right name for their pets. I’ve had two dogs during my adult years. The first was a golden retriever named Rusty. His coat was a dark golden, so the color of rust as a name seemed appropriate for him. I had Rusty in my life since he was just a puppy and he was with me through some very impressionable times – including the birth of my daughter, going off to graduate school, starting my own business and lots more. He died when he was a little over 10 years old. Needless to say, I was down for quite some time.

People told me I needed to get another dog right away. I didn’t. In fact, I waited almost a year. That’s when I got Coco.

He’s a Westie and although I thought he was adorable, we didn’t bond right away. I went through the motions; fed him, played with him, walked him, etc. But in the end, Coco was not Rusty.

But then it happened. I think it started when he began bringing me a little toy in the morning. He wanted me to throw it so he could go chase it and bring it back. That is just too darn cute!

We don’t do the traditional Westie grooming; we have him shaved in the summer. But I like it when he gets this moppy kind of look.

And he likes listening to me play guitar.

The next thing you know, I’m head over heels.

That being said, you’ll understand how upset we were when he ran away recently. We let him out in the back yard to do his thing, but we didn’t realize the front gate was open. By the time my husband went back 10 minutes later, Coco was nowhere to be found. It was dark, cold, and he’s a little guy. Oh, and did I mention he doesn’t like to come when he’s called…especially when he’s wondering around free?

We took off in separate cars combing the neighborhood, calling his name. It’s December here in Missouri and it was a cold night. I wondered how much longer we could go on looking for him and I wondered how he would make it on his own over night. The situation was bleak.

But then it happened. My daughter caught a glimpse of something moving from the corner of her eye. Could we get our hopes up? Is it possible it could be him? She saw the movement again. “I think it’s him, mom!” she exclaimed. I certainly hoped she was right. And she was. She opened the door and called his name, and he came running. He was covered in burrs, but we had him back. I think he enjoyed being a fugitive for an hour.

If you’re wondering about the name, Coco is short for Coconut. We call him Coco. We also call him Dogba because he is like our own little Roomba, foraging the floor for any tidbits that might have fallen to the ground. Every now and then, I like to throw the “nut” part of his name in too. Coco the Nut (like Jabba the Hutt) or Coconutty; whatever comes to mind. Now he gets a new title. Just as Gandalf the Grey goes on a journey and comes back as Gandalf the White, Coco the Nut has returned as Coco the Fugitive.