For Cotton, May 19, 2021

Yesterday was my first day without my dear, beloved Cotton, who has been with me for 14 years. I’m devastated and heartbroken. I knew it was coming, but it’s still such a shock to my system. I just can’t imagine life without his sweet presence.

I always used to say that Cotton was closer to the wolf than many dogs – he was such a noble spirit. He was not the most affectionate of dogs – I always described him as my 1950s guy because he was kind of stoic, not showy with his feelings, but fiercely devoted.

I adopted Cotton when I lived in the mountains of northeast Georgia and was renting a 100-year-old farmhouse on eight acres of land. It was dog (and Sheri) heaven. I know it was his favorite place that we’ve ever lived, and honestly, mine as well. Every morning we would walk out the front door and he would race down through the pasture, running with such fierce joy. I’d follow behind and he’d meet me where we crossed into the wooded area by the lake. Then we’d go up the hill, looking for tiny toad babies (in season), finally coming back down past the old barn and into the back yard. I have a loveseat glider on which we used to sit on the front porch like two people on a date, me with my arm around him.

A few months after I adopted him, a neighbor moved away and left behind her six-month-old orange tabby cat named Tang. I took Tang to my house, initially as an outdoor cat only. He adored Cotton, and one of the pictures I’ll post is of Tang with his paws around Cotton’s neck. Tang moved with us to Chicago, but when I was moving to California for my doctoral program and my school apartment didn’t allow outdoor cats, my neighbors Patty and Armando – who had fallen completely in love with Tang – adopted him. Now Tang lives in Switzerland with them and is a very happy and loved indoor cat.

Cotton was an accomplished hunter and had at least 12 squirrel notches on his belt, plus a couple of rabbits and at least one possum. A fellow dog owner at the park we frequented near my apartment in Chicago even once drew a picture of me carrying one of the squirrel carcasses to the garbage so that Cotton wouldn’t eat it.

Janice, who worked in the business office at Claremont School of Theology, used to call Cotton her “boyfriend.” She adored him, not because he doted on her or showed her any real affection, but because he was such an independent spirit. She loved the way he’d stare at the door I entered from where I’d hooked his leash when I went inside, willing me to come back out with his eyes. Once, he let his true feelings for Janice show when I told him we were going to see her and he started making excited noises.

Cotton wasn’t my “boyfriend.” He was actually more like my “husband.” I know that sounds weird to people who haven’t lived singly for a long period with a significant pet, but I know that in the absence of a spouse, I projected all my unconscious crud onto Cotton just like women and men project onto their human spouses. We worked through a lot of stuff, Cotton and I. He was my teacher and soul friend.

And he was always a good houseguest. When we’d travel together, he was typically a welcome visitor to those who knew him. He wasn’t disruptive, just a calm presence. That’s why whenever we passed children as we were walking who seemed interested in him, I’d pause and ask if they wanted to pet him. Cotton wasn’t always an immediate greeter of other humans, but if I asked him to “say hello” he always would, very sweetly. And because he, and Bobby too (my smaller and younger Westie-Pomeranian dog mix), were such a calm presence, children loved them. Before I got Bobby, I’d lost my two senior kitties, Carly and Phoebe (this was in CA), and spent a couple of months without a cat and just Cotton.

But I soon couldn’t bear a catless house, so I adopted Chelsea. She never felt the need to hide from Cotton, but just hung out with us only a few feet from him her very first night.

Cotton and I clashed over a few things over the years (like any “couple”) and his walking manners were one such area. All I ever wanted was for him to walk next to me with a slack leash, but that took probably 12 years to achieve and I’m sure by then it was just due to age that it even happened. You just had to respect that independent spirit and confidence. But we enjoyed walks in many lovely places together. Behind the Old Sautee Store in north Georgia was a place we could get in the Chattahoochee River, and we’d spend an hour or so walking in the woods there and swimming. Or we’d hang out with Joanne by her bend of the river. He was always happiest in those kinds of places.

Twice we went camping with my brother, Jeff, and his church’s family camping weekend. The first year, I kept Cotton on a long leash in the campsite but let him loose by the lake. The dogs that lived there played with him. The second year, when the resident dogs came on their own to the campsite, I let Cotton off. They’d go off together, and every time they swung back around, it seemed they’d added another camping dog to their pack.

I did a session with an animal communicator once. She told me that Cotton really wanted to be a wolf in this life and that he was quite angry when it didn’t happen. She said he’d been mistreated in his first home (I knew that was true by the marks around his neck when I adopted him) but that when we met each other he knew he’d found his soul mate, and that I saw who he really was inside. Maybe that was fantasy. But I felt it was true.

So when I said goodbye to him, I told him I thought he’d get to be a wolf in his next life.

This morning, when I opened Facebook, the memory that came up was from 13 years ago, and was my very favorite picture of me and Cotton. My friend Anne took it at our mountain house when I was needing some promotional photos for my music career. It shows Cotton and I on the porch and he is kissing me.

Goodbye my sweet friend. I will never forget you. You will always be in my heart.