The story of Cozby - Dave's version

Cozby came from a farm in southwest Virginia, sometime when Britten was in grad school. He's a golden retriever mixed with a corgi, as best we can tell. The result is he looks a bit like a golden that's been chopped off at the knees. Britten calls him a short-long. He's got one ear that's always up and one that's always down, which makes him pretty darn adorable. (I'm fairly certain I just lost some man points, but I think it's mitigated by the fact that I'm watching college basketball right now).

I think there are three things that I can point to as formative in Cozby's development. First, we think that sometime before Britten got him, he had a bad experience with a man, probably someone wearing a baseball cap. So he's not entirely keen on men at first.

Secondly, he spent alot of time with his mommy in her apartment in Charlottesville. As a result, while he may love many people and dogs, nothing compares to Britten. I know exactly how he feels.

Thirdly, he also grew up around Britten's parents. More importantly, he grew up around their dogs - they have pretty much always had two westies. Because of this, he thinks he's a westie, even though he's a 50 pound non-westie. He plays like them. Contrast that with Chili, who, when we were babysitting a westie once, spent most of the time following the dog around with his mouth open trying to figure out if he should eat it or play with it.

Cozby's favorite place in the world (besides whereever his mommy is) is in a coccoon of love. This is any spot that is just the size of his body, usually created by the space between a pair of human legs and a couch. Nothing makes his tail wag faster. Except his mommy.

The story of Chili

Chili came to me as a Christmas present from a girl I was dating at the time. I came over to her house one night and there he was. Fresh from the SPCA, he was a little black puppy who still had the stitches from being neutered. The folks at the SPCA thought he was around 2 months old, but we've figured out that he was probably born sometime in June of 2004. He's part lab, part something else, part mayonnaise, and part bottomless pit. At four and a half, he still has that lack of body awareness that only a puppy has. He constantly runs into things (including Britten's head a couple of days ago). I used to worry that he might be hurting his head, giving himself a concussion or brain damage, with all the banging, but then I realized that he started out with the intelligence of a potato, so his intelligence could really only get better.

At times, I've called him Booger, Captain Idiot, Bubba, Black Dog, and of course Chili. He generally responds to none of these unless food is present.

He's an attention whore. Really, he just likes to be where the action is, not to necessarily get attention. Many a morning, I've had to tie my shoes with a snout and/or tongue in the middle of the shoelaces.

He likes to eat rawhide chips a little too fast. He'll swallow them well before they will actually go all the way down his throat, and they get lodged in the back of his mouth. This leads to either an immediate regurgitation (with lovely accompanying noises), or 45 minutes of licking his bed before then regurgitating the chip. It's one of his more lovable traits.

The beginning

Last night, Britten and I went to see "Marley and Me". We both cried harder than either of us had in a long time. It got me thinking what a great thing it was to have a written record of our best friends' lives. These furry things are with us for years, giving us all the love that they have, probably because we feed them, but maybe because they really are our companions. We share a bond with our dogs that is unique - master, pack leader, play pal, cuddler, walker, bud. Why should we not capture the moments we have with them?

This is the story of our two dogs, Chili and Cozby. A daily record of the anecdotes of our four legged family members.