Gabrielle Gassin

September 2021

Dear Coco.

I feel guilty already that you’re twelve years old and I’m only just beginning to write to you, but when you’re there in the flesh in front of me every day it doesn’t occur that you will one day be gone.

You’re not gone, by the way. But with the promise of new life, one thing is certain – that one day that life will end. Seems sombre, yes. But I’m being proactive however sad it makes me feel to consider your future absence. I want you know some things and I’m writing to you to share my thoughts.

When you got sick nearly two years ago, I was beyond devastated at the thought of losing you. The day we found out how bad the stones were was one of the most difficult in my life. I thought we were driving to Sydney to say goodbye to your struggling body, and the heaviness in my heart manifested in big fat tears, swelling my eyelids as they refused to stop falling. I wept, and wept and didn’t stop until I picked up a phone call from your surgeon with a solution.

Despite your age, there are times when you are full of energy, galloping down the hallway, tail frantic as if you were little once more. Sometimes these spurts of liveliness erupt at bedtime, once the children are asleep and it’s time to wind down…your high pitched yelling at Bangers and your nails on the timber make both of us cringe in fear of waking the sleeping boys. But I won’t tell you to stop: you’re having a wild time and who am I to cut short your fun.

When you had to stay in hospital for ten days post surgery and we couldn’t visit you, I knew you thought you’d been abandoned. The fact that you wouldn’t eat a single thing attested to that; you boycotted food because it was your heart that was breaking now. Then your aunty visited and you devoured a bowl of chicken in her presence, confirming for us that yes, you needed some family support to get through this difficult time. Thankfully, you went and stayed with Sasha for your recovery before flying home to Perth. I imagine it would have been hard for you to be away from your little matey too; that would have been the longest period of time you’ve been apart. I’m sure that his injury may partly have been due to heartbreak, as he wondered where his sidekick had disappeared to. I won’t go into that: 2019 was a really hard time for all of us, the way it ended with both of you seriously ill in hospital.

Something I really want to acknowledge is the way that your lifestyle has changed. When I picked you up with mum all those years ago, I didn’t think about you going from my number one baby to my number three baby, with two human children taking the lead. I never intended it to be like that, but such is the nature of producing a family, I suppose. It’s unethical and immoral to leave kids at home by themselves all day but apparently doggies can manage, so I apologise that you don’t get the same level of expeditioning that you once did. Sometimes I notice the front door open and see you processing the goal of departure, and I allow it. Just if you must go out, please come back walking on your own and not carried because of an accident that has happened.

I want you to know that there was a time there where you weren’t the only one who was just surviving the day to day, however neglected you might have felt. But now, it’s getting easier. As the boys become more independent and manageable, I can allow more time for you and Bang. But have a word to him, please, about really trying to poop outside. I do enough cleaning up for one person and I really don’t fancy adding more to the load.

Lately you’ve been acting strangely; choosing to stay outside when offered to come in and laying under the shade of the l’orange tree in the back garden. One day this week you remained there for the entire day, either enjoying the warm spring weather or harbouring something more sinister, I don’t know. You’re trying to tell me something with your lack of interest in dinner and it is definitely worrying me, so I’ve made an appointment for you to see a doctor.

June 2022

So, Coco. We have moved house for the third time. Your health seems to be fine – you did a course of antibiotics for a UTI and your mood is definitely better.

We are now on acreage in Banjup, and you are most certainly living your best life. I have seen two things lately; one of them is you traipsing happily around the grounds, your tiny, fluffy white body in complete contrast to the green of the grass and the swaying of the gumtrees, and the other is you finding something soft to lay on in random rooms – the front door mat, the grey cushions in Arlo’s room, your actual bed (you on a scrunched up blanket), the purple cushion in the spare room, nanny’s suitcase.

You still follow me around everywhere, and you still stop and stand in the spots that almost always inevitably mean you’re going to be trodden on. I think this is enhanced by your inability to hear well, it’s been going downhill and I think it’s pretty poor at the moment. Too be expected, I suppose, with you being 13 years old. Sometimes you’ll be standing in front of the lounge room window, outside, to try and get my attention to let you in and if you don’t see me open the front door, you definitely don’t hear me. I have to come within a metre or so of you to alert you to the open entry.

I put a jacket on you last week because it’s been really cold and your wool is quite short at the moment. The boys were overjoyed to see you wearing clothes. I took the little coat off yesterday and you had a pretty bad case of hat hair!

2024

Coco, lately you’ve been doing a bit of sleeping in. Quite a few times I’ve had to lean over you, poised and waiting for you to breathe and praying to someone that you haven’t slipped away over night.

It’s been another really long stint without writing to you again, Coco, but I’ve been thinking about doing it for a long while. Things got busy last year; I went back to work so time observing you was lessened with me out of the house. When we first moved to Banjup, you would spend your days wondering about, often to be seen up along Hebble Loop doing a daily waltz, of sorts. No doubt you were up there investigating the many smells a suburb of acreages supplies; you were always the one (out of you and Bangers) that spent far too long sniffing a spot and needing to be dragged away. I wonder what those scents were telling you.

2025

In the last six months, your hearing has really deteriorated. You cannot be called unless a human legitimately yells your name, and even then you turn your head only slightly. In that moment, you’ve heard something, for sure. But it’s as if it’s still only faint for you, like someone is whispering your name.

You spend most of your days sleeping now – no exaggeration. Sometimes I’ll leave and return home, having been gone for hours, and you’re in the same spot. The hot days don’t help with this – the summer has been a tough one. Despite that, though, you’re turning 16 this month and going reasonably strong. Your little mate Bangers is still around too – contrary to what we anxiously anticipated. Now as time passes and we still have both of you, we count our lucky stars and feel more confident that you’ll both stick around for another little while.

Often in the morning, Coco, you are full of life. It’s wonderful to see you so spirited; I think that when the temperature drops and the mornings are cool, you’re injected with a burst of energy that the boys absolutely adore seeing. You still bounce around like a puppy, although you are much more off balance than you once were. I think it’s your vision – you definitely can’t see like a young dog. More than twice in the last two weeks, you have prepared to pounce through a doorway only to almost concuss yourself, not having realised that the glass door was closed. I’ve seen two attempts at entry and it hurts my heart – you slowly wag your tail and look around, bewildered and wondering, I imagine, what sort of invisible force stopped you from entering the house. Glass is tricky even for humans, so I really feel for you in this sense.

January 2025

This morning you were bouncing around inside the house; the boys brought you down to my room because apparently you wanted to say hello to me. And when you saw me – it seemed true! You started your elderly version of zoomies and we had a good little play. I opened the sliding bedroom door at one point, thinking you wanted to exit, and I was right. The boys and I watched you literally run up the driveway, a good 40 metres before you stopped to do your poo in the middle of the driving path. We had a laugh about it.

I want to give you a bath this weekend as despite your wool being short, it’s quite dirty. You sleep outside with Bangers during the summers now because for some reason, neither of you can understand that you don’t have an inside toilet. The mess we were having to clean up on a daily basis was intolerable, so we decided that with the weather warm enough you could sleep outside. I think you like it as you have the freedom to hop up and wonder about whenever you want to. We keep you both inside during the heatwaves, of course, and the air stays on for you despite no humans being home.

April 2025

I can’t believe you’re 16 now! You had your birthday in on February 20 and the boys went to the pet shop with Shane and got you a bone and some doggy treats. I don’t think the bones were exceptionally good, you were only interested for one day and then I think Bangers might have buried yours as well as his. The nights have just started getting really cold, but we don’t know what to do about you both coming inside. You, in particular, wee EVERYWHERE. You have definitely forgotten where to go at times, because yesterday you pipeed in front of me twice! Just popped a squat and away you went. And the amount of urine that comes out of you is shocking for such a small creature. At bed time last night we discovered three giant wees through the hallway and our bedroom and in the en-suite, after we had been vigilant with keeping the hallway door shut. Neither of us know when you guys snuck down there to do all that! There was also an unacceptable poo in our bedroom. It makes us really mad to have to clean up such grossness, but we also know that your age is showing when you do things like this.

You had a groom this week Coco, Debbie is still looking after your hair cuts which is nice to have some consistency. She had to go quite short around the eyes because they’re very weepy – just your age, she says. I’ve just let you and Bangers inside as I have my writing time – you guys were pretty cold last night and it’s only (late) April. I’m going to have to work out some other sleeping arrangements that don’t have you out in the cold but also don’t have you defecating and urinating all over the place. Sometimes we find wees days later after it has well and truly sunk into the jarrah floor boards, which is gross. I’ve tucked you into a blanket – you were crying just now and despite your jumper I think you might have been cold. You’re inside it now and Bangs is embedded in the cushions and resting his head on your body. It’s very adorable!

February 2026

Once again it’s been many months since I last touched base with a letter to you, Coco. Part of that is focus on other writings (my manuscript!) and part of that is denial in facing the facts in front of me.

Things are bad. Over the summer, you deteriorated quite significantly, and are spending most of your days asleep. The end of last year brought another UTI and two rounds of antibiotics, blood and pipi testing to check your health. You were in good spirits, lively in the mornings, once the medication finished. I think you felt briefly better. The infection hadn’t cleared though, and we were all worried we would lose you. You have soldiered on since then, though, despite pretty clear changes in your behaviour and a persistent underlying bladder infection.

Since we returned from Japan, you seem to have grown older and more ill without recourse. Your eyes are goopy and need regular cleaning, and you are very unsteady on your feet. As I type this, I am watching you stagger around on the exterior patio as if you are drunk for the first time. You might be in pain – your mid section is hunched and you are stopping and starting, as if to ready yourself for the next step. I washed you two weekends ago, and for a person who is mostly sleeping, I don’t know how you get so dirty! Often we are pulling prickles out from between your toes – this has to be painful as they are quite spiky. And when you go beyond the immediate borders of the house is anyone’s guess. Once, when we were in Japan, Danny couldn’t find you in the morning and when he did, you were down the back in the paddock – I think you might have wondered off overnight and got lost. You can’t see very well because of the cataracts and your hearing is almost entirely gone. It must be so scary being so small and not having full control of your senses.

Right now, you are walking in circles. This what you’ve been doing lately. You don’t seem to be sure what you are supposed to do or where you are supposed to go. I don’t know what your intention is either; whether you want to wee or poo or sniff something… it’s not clear. Every now and then you trip too – something I have really never seen a dog do.

You’re skinny too. Eating food still – though that is also a mission. Often we find you with one or two paws in either your food or your water bowl – I don’t think it’s purposeful but maybe it’s the only way you can understand the location of your meal.

I don’t know how much longer you will be physically with us. I’ve been in denial about this issue for a long time – when Shane suggested this over the summer, that we pick a date and organise ourselves for your passing, I just could not bring myself to even believe we were going to do that. Now, as the days wear on and you seem less and less able, less comfortable and progressively more lost, I think that might be what we need to do. The last thing in the world, that I want, is to lose you, little girl, but it might also be cruel to push you to live on. Your body is not supporting you anymore and putting you through pain and discomfort to live on would only be to ease our minds.

I will wash you again today – no doubt you will sleep through the warm water over your body as you did last time, and you will be clean and fluffy for your birthday on Friday. 17 years we have been together – that’s a good long stint, my little friend. We have done so much together, and you have been a partner and companion for Bangers for nearly 14 of those years. I don’t know what will happen to Bangs once you’re gone…that’s another problem altogether! For now we will do what we can to keep you comfortable and I will write again when a decision has been made. You are LOVED!

Saturday, March 7 2026

Today my eyes are swollen and my heart is aching because yesterday you were taken from us, by accident. The pool gate was left open and when we put you and Bangers to bed, neither Shane nor I even saw that it wasn’t closed. It doesn’t help that for once, I didn’t put the back room light on, and that the fencing is glass. In retrospect I wasn’t vigilant enough, and it’s this heart wrenching regret that I will have to live on with. I wish I’d known the gate was open – it would have been such a simple fix, and you would still be with us. Some people say that a dog will choose their own time, particularly if their people are struggling with the decision. I am trying to tell myself that this is what happened, although my logic mind knows it was a tragic accident that came about because someone forgot to close the gate.

When I came to say good morning and let you out for a wee; the moment I saw the pool gate open, something within me knew what I would discover. For this reason I couldn’t go into the pool area. I checked your bed thoroughly and went to get Shane, fearing the worst. At first, Shane gave the all clear – he didn’t see you. I double checked, however, and there you were. Seeing your little body at the bottom of the pool is an image I don’t think I’ll ever forget, and it remains there, tormenting my mind as I ruminate over the circumstances.

Never have I ever felt such immediate and profound pain as I did then with finding your body. I could not stand; I wept with deep, unparalleled sorrow for many things – that we did not say goodbye, that you were alone, for any panic you might have felt, that nobody was there to save you, and that this wasn’t how your life should have ended. Shane brought you out of the water, and I cried and cried and cried.

You were such a beautiful, gentle little soul. My shadow, the little fluff ball who has been by my side since the day I moved out of home and across the country. Seventeen years together is a long time! You were my first true responsibility and my faithful friend. The love I have for you is so unconditional, and the anguish I feel for how you died is a lead blanket on my soul.

In your brighter years, you would sit by the piano stool as I played and on the bathmat as I showered. You didn’t like to be left alone, and Bangers didn’t count as comfort. On the way across the Nullabor, you yelped and yelped at being left in the shade of Baby Blue’s tray, until we returned to bring you with us. At the Leeming house, you and Bangers would sit and watch from the window – it was floor to ceiling so perfect for you to watch the world outside go by. You would watch us leave, and stand on your hind legs and jump excitedly when we arrived home. Shane taught you to pirouette for treats; you had this and about two other tricks that were very cute to watch.

I’ll never forget the time you ate a block of 90% dark chocolate from my work bag. You were discovered at the scene, and rushed to hospital with us desperate to save you from the poison that’s inevitable with dogs eating chocolate. You survived, of course, though it made you very sick. And then, you would seek out chocolate whenever and wherever you could – a lesson not having been learnt and an addiction having been initiated.

Once baby #1 came along, you sat at his bedroom door or next to his cot if you were allowed on the carpet. On a walk you would never come when you were called, instead opting to sniff every single smell available and end up 50 metres behind at all times. Otherwise you would ride in the basket under the pram because sometimes it was just too hot for you. You were three years old when you moved in with Bangers, and you two were the best of friends for many years to follow. You always slept in the same bed, often Bangs would lay parts of his body on yours. As you got older you became a bit more impatient; you seemed to tolerate him on the outside despite growling when he came close. I think you truly loved him as he loved you, and being annoyed with him might have just been a tough front as you aged. He persisted in trying to make you sit, as the boys would say, and we often had to rescue you from his attempts.

When we moved to Hebble Loop, you would take yourself on walks to explore the area. This was always a worry to us, but we couldn’t stop you unless we saw you leaving. If you ever got out at the Leeming house, neighbours or concerned citizens would try to chaperone you home whilst you barked in their faces.

You used to play, you used to bounce around in play, your nails making that sound on the floorboards that can’t be replicated by anything else. You went through a good few years where we called you “Soccer Dog” because you would chase and puncture any soccer ball you could.

You were an absolute star for any sort of grooming. You would stand perfectly still to have your woolly coat brushed and the hair around your eyes trimmed. Last week you lay in the sun after a bath whilst I cut your nails and you didn’t flinch. I used to think you should have been a show dog, the way you handled being washed and dried. I was always proud to collect you from Debbie’s and hear how well behaved you had been.

One year, you came on a Girl’s Trip with Jo and I to visit Katie down the coast. You sat at the table with us for breakfast and you were one of us. I loved taking you out and treating you like a little purse puppy.

Whenever we were flying home for Christmas, you and Bangers would be packed up into your flying carriers and dropped off for the journey. We could never really know what it was like for you, being stowed in the underbelly of an aeroplane for hours in the dark, so picking you up safely was always a relief.

I have so many more memories to share, and I’m sure I will, over the years. It will be one way that you stay with us, despite a physical presence.

I’m so sorry we didn’t get to say goodbye to you properly and for how things ended. If there was something I could swap out to bring you back, I would. I wish things had been different. I can’t believe you’re in the ground and not in your bed next me as I write this. I always knew the day would come, but what I didn’t prepare for was the absolute agony your passing has caused. This is certainly due to the way you left us, and I’m trying to believe that it was supposed to be like this for some reason. You took the burden of having to make a decision away from me by taking care of things yourself.

Thank you for the joy you brought me. You have been my constant companion for my entire adult life and I know there won’t be a day that passes that I don’t think of you. I have so many beautiful video clips to watch so that the memory of who you were when you were at your best won’t be forgotten. I will love you forever, my little Coco Bear.