Crazy Cooter: My personal memoirs Chapter three - Bonding with the "Roscoe"

Early in my life I was separated from my loving mother and my many brothers and sisters. It was a difficult transition - I lost a nurturer and provider who had been there since my birth, kept me warm and fed and gave an unending love I have rarely known since. I lost the litter that taught me about family and sharing and cooperation. It was a traumatic time.

But from the shadows came my lifeline: a large, black friend that the giants called "Roscoe". He was my light when the world seemed cold and frightening. At the beginning Roscoe was fascinated with me. He would lick me at every opportunity, even helping with the task my mother used to do: encouraging my bladder to release. That first time was the moment I knew for certain that I had a friend in the house.


When the giants finally accepted my independence and allowed me to roam freely through the house at night, I would crawl closer to him and snuggle into his fur, feeling the warmth and comfort that only he could provide. (The giants were relatively hairless -the female more than the male.) Normally, I would have suckled my mother in those moments, but try as I might, I could never locate the source of any food Roscoe could offer. Usually the best I could get out of him was a yelp.

Roscoe was usually quite patient with me in those early days. I could crawl across his body over and over, slumber against his belly, follow him throughout the house and still he would not protest. After several weeks, though, he seemed to grow impatient with the activities that once brought me such joy. When I crawled up next to him on the couch, he would move to the other chair. When I playfully batted and nipped at his face, he bared his teeth at me and opened his mouth as if to devour me whole. When I tried to share the toys in the house, I was met with barking. It was unsettling that my attempts at friendship were so ill-received, but it did not deter me from continuing. If nothing else, it made me more determined than ever to share my life with him.

I decided to increase my efforts and show Roscoe how much he meant to me. On many days, the giants would say the word "kennel" and Roscoe would go willingly into a metal holding area until they returned in the evening. I don't know what kind of mind control tricks they used, but it seemed to involve a carrot. My friend needed me. I couldn't break the code to release him, but after the giants left the house, I would use my new-found mobility to crawl up the sides of the container and keep him company. I would stick my paws through the slats and offer him my support, but he always seemed just out of reach. I think he really appreciated my efforts in spite of our limitations and I certainly relished the time we spent together, separated by just a grid of metal and our differing species.