LOWDOWN Winter 2009 page 6
COOPER a tribute to a
much loved hound
by Brian Malin
Verwood Hyper Hyper x Grandturzel Private Ryan 19/03/1995 - 1/09/2009

Back home from the vet
without Cooper. The
Barn feels strangely empty. Cooper was much loved.
Despite clear tests and
steroids, Cooper went right off all food doggy and human.
For the past month our greatest triumph was the day he ate four knobs of corned beef and a Mars ice cream!

The last two weeks he could not be tempted to eat anything, and having
lost over fifteen kilos since January, he was surviving on drinks of milk
or water and his body fat.
Throughout, he remained determined and feisty. Still pack leader, he demanded daily
forty-five minute walks - especially when we tried to sneak out without
him and he required all people and dogs to speak to him. He still spent
evenings on the dog settee with
my hand resting on him and slept for twenty-two hours a day; beautifully
relaxed, with steady breathing.
During the night he would thrust his muzzle into my face until I let him out (1.50am and 4.10
were his most popular times) - clean right up to the end.
Barnaby had been gently licking Cooper around the liver/stomach area ever since last November and, latterly,
he would lie quietly for ages by his side in the garden very sweet, but
emotional for us.
Cooper was lucky to have such a pain free end. His presence is still with us.
Strangely, I felt calm and in command as I reassured him at the vets. But writing this, I am a
bit watery and wonder where is the stiff upper-lip that I can produce for most humans. I fear some
psychoanalyst would have a field-day with this, but I suspect most of us
find the loss of a dog particularly acutely. Their love for us is
unconditional. It is a special bond
The above is a situation we all have to face and we rarely mention it. Indeed, I am not sure I
should have written this and will leave it to our editor to print or
disregard; for it is not a ‘normal’ obituary.
by Brian Malin.
(Ed. Jill and Brian, thank you for sharing this touching experience with us. Of course, there was never the slightest chance that I would not use this moving piece. Anyone who has experienced the loss of a dear hound will find your
tribute very cathartic and I hope that this will encourage other hound
obituaries/tributes to be submitted to LOWDOWN).
Back home from the vet
without Cooper. The
Barn feels strangely empty. Cooper was much loved.
Despite clear tests and
steroids, Cooper went right off all food doggy and human.
For the past month our greatest triumph was the day he ate four knobs of corned beef and a Mars ice cream!

The last two weeks he could not be tempted to eat anything, and having
lost over fifteen kilos since January, he was surviving on drinks of milk
or water and his body fat.
Throughout, he remained determined and feisty. Still pack leader, he demanded daily
forty-five minute walks - especially when we tried to sneak out without
him and he required all people and dogs to speak to him. He still spent
evenings on the dog settee with
my hand resting on him and slept for twenty-two hours a day; beautifully
relaxed, with steady breathing.
During the night he would thrust his muzzle into my face until I let him out (1.50am and 4.10
were his most popular times) - clean right up to the end.
Barnaby had been gently licking Cooper around the liver/stomach area ever since last November and, latterly,
he would lie quietly for ages by his side in the garden very sweet, but
emotional for us.
Cooper was lucky to have such a pain free end. His presence is still with us.
Strangely, I felt calm and in command as I reassured him at the vets. But writing this, I am a
bit watery and wonder where is the stiff upper-lip that I can produce for most humans. I fear some
psychoanalyst would have a field-day with this, but I suspect most of us
find the loss of a dog particularly acutely. Their love for us is
unconditional. It is a special bond
The above is a situation we all have to face and we rarely mention it. Indeed, I am not sure I
should have written this and will leave it to our editor to print or
disregard; for it is not a ‘normal’ obituary.
by Brian Malin.
(Ed. Jill and Brian, thank you for sharing this touching experience with us. Of course, there was never the slightest chance that I would not use this moving piece. Anyone who has experienced the loss of a dear hound will find your
tribute very cathartic and I hope that this will encourage other hound
obituaries/tributes to be submitted to LOWDOWN).
Back home from the vet
without Cooper. The
Barn feels strangely empty. Cooper was much loved.
Despite clear tests and
steroids, Cooper went right off all food doggy and human.
For the past month our greatest triumph was the day he ate four knobs of corned beef and a Mars ice cream!

The last two weeks he could not be tempted to eat anything, and having
lost over fifteen kilos since January, he was surviving on drinks of milk
or water and his body fat.
Throughout, he remained determined and feisty. Still pack leader, he demanded daily
forty-five minute walks - especially when we tried to sneak out without
him and he required all people and dogs to speak to him. He still spent
evenings on the dog settee with
my hand resting on him and slept for twenty-two hours a day; beautifully
relaxed, with steady breathing.
During the night he would thrust his muzzle into my face until I let him out (1.50am and 4.10
were his most popular times) - clean right up to the end.
Barnaby had been gently licking Cooper around the liver/stomach area ever since last November and, latterly,
he would lie quietly for ages by his side in the garden very sweet, but
emotional for us.
Cooper was lucky to have such a pain free end. His presence is still with us.
Strangely, I felt calm and in command as I reassured him at the vets. But writing this, I am a
bit watery and wonder where is the stiff upper-lip that I can produce for most humans. I fear some
psychoanalyst would have a field-day with this, but I suspect most of us
find the loss of a dog particularly acutely. Their love for us is
unconditional. It is a special bond
The above is a situation we all have to face and we rarely mention it. Indeed, I am not sure I
should have written this and will leave it to our editor to print or
disregard; for it is not a ‘normal’ obituary.
by Brian Malin.
(Ed. Jill and Brian, thank you for sharing this touching experience with us. Of course, there was never the slightest chance that I would not use this moving piece. Anyone who has experienced the loss of a dear hound will find your
tribute very cathartic and I hope that this will encourage other hound
obituaries/tributes to be submitted to LOWDOWN).