The French Lady of Carroll Highlands

All I could do the first time I laid eyes on Coco was freeze. After all I didn’t really want to interrupt a lady when she was washing herself! But the wonderful brown hair, those soulful eyes and perfectly shape torso left me no choice but to call out. ‘Here girl!’ She trotted over, head up, fluffy eyebrows concealing the color of her eyes. Her gait a soft hippy motion, one foot in front of the other, always three feet firmly on the ground. She stopped, sat, raised her paw and I was in love!

Yeah, she was a French Poodle. But did you know the French didn’t breed this dog and the last name was not poodle but puddle. Yep, they were sired in Germany. I guess they got to France as part of the WWI booty. Anyway, this is to explain why Coco was the smartest dog I’ve met in many a day. Right now I got a German Shepard who’s so smart we have to spell certain words if we want to keep control of situations. But Coco was something else.

She was owned by my oldest and perhaps closest friends. At the time their four children ranged from nine to three; three daughters and one son. The boy was between the first two girls and the caboose. Their mother believes kids should socialize, so their back yard became the playground for up to ten or so kids every afternoon and all day once summer arrived. It was a freeking mad house, but mother is a freeking genius anyway, so the kids just had a blast. And no one ever came out to check on them because Coco was there, and she was the greatest supervisor, Nanny, Protectress the world has ever seen. Kids were not allow to fight. She just came over, grabbed the most aggressive by the seat of the pants and dragged them back. There was no nonsense in the wading pool. Coco loved water and had her Water Safety Instructor’s badge. Kids did not dunk other kids, or she dragged them out and made them stay out until she stopped growling when they tried to go back in. And she also had no tolerance for the older ones bullying the little ones.

But best of all is this. Across the street was a young man who was mentally deranged. By the time he was fifteen he was incarcerated for violent felonies. But at the time he’s about eight. Even then he liked to torture animals, eat nasty tasting bugs and strike out in blind rages when he didn’t get his way. Of course he wanted to join the circus going on in the back yard across the street. One day I watched him try to butt in at least five times and each time he reached the boundaries, Coco came over, took him by his sleeve, he had a long sleeve shirt on, and gently but firmly pulled him back into his yard. No matter how hard the kid struggled, she just kept a steady pressure and didn’t let go until he was back in his own yard. Then she went to sit under the nice elm tree in her domain, and resume her vigil. With her head turned slightly toward the crazy kid.

Last but not least, I watched her clean the clocks of two Dobermans who tried invading her territory. There was light brown fur all over the yard, front, back, and both sides. It was all Coco’s. But when I gave her the once over, she didn’t have a single cut! Meanwhile both Dobermans had to go to the vets to get some stitches taken in their sides and rears. And the Dobermans were the only barkers, snarls and growls. Coco just went about her work as if she had a Sixth Degree Black Belt in dog fighting! So it goes.

She lived a long and happy life. Faithful to the end, smart as a tack and trustworthy to a fault. But she was loved. Oh God, was she loved! She’s buried in the back yard, under the elm, and for years, I’d give that spot a wave as I either walked, jogged, trotted, or drove past. All three of my children attended her funeral. Man’s best friend, protector and , SO IT GOES!