This week I innerviewed one of the most joyful, Puppiest non-puppies I’ve EVER met: Thatcher Coppola, a 93-pound bulldog mixture, about 9 or 10; brindle, white NEE-sox, big squarish head, soft brown eyes, anna wide, smiley mouth.
Thatcher (onna leash probly cuzza his outgoing doganality) anna nice lady greeted me an my assistant at the door.
Thatcher came right up for the Wag-an-Sniff an I innerduced myself an my assistant. “Thanks for agreeing to share your tail,” I said.
“I’m Thatcher Coppola and this is my Mom Cassandra. I’ve been practicin’ so I won’t forget stuff.”
We got situated, an Thatcher snuggled up to my assistant (an The Satchel, from which my assistant produced a coupla dulishus bacon snacks). Between bites, Thatcher explained, “I never even HEARD of a Treat buh-for, but NOW, Mom says I’m TREAT MO-duh-vaded.”
“That would make sense,” I smiled.
Following the slobbery snack break, Thatcher began his tail, pawsing occasionally to give my assistant some frenly slurps, an peer hopefully into The Satchel.
“Before me, Mom hadda buh-loved pooch, Kunar. After Kunar hadda go to Dog Heaven, it took Mom a year till she was ready to find another pooch.
“She checked the Humane Society On The Line an saw my pickshur and BY-O. See, I’d been abandoned an dumped out on the road. I was real skinny, and had lotsa cuts and broozes an marks all over me. It’s kinda fuzzy but I sorta remember a buncha very mean an scary fellow dogs.
“Anyway, Mom wanted to adopt me Then-an-There, but she’d previously planned a trip an couldn’t pick me up till a few days later. BUT, the Humane Society ROOLS are pets can’t be put On Hold. So, when she got home an went to get me, she found out I’d already been adopted. She was Seriously Bummed. That was March. Then, in August, Mom got a call from a fren who was a Humane Society volunteer who told her I was back at the Humane Society. I’d apparently been abandoned an dumped AGAIN, an I was currently in foster care.”
“Oh, for Lassie’s Sake!”
“I KNOW! Right? When Mom found out, she was visitin’ Grampa Carl an Gramma Mary Ann inna place called Charles’ town. Grampa Carl told Mom to GO GET ME RIGHT AWAY, so Mom DID. She headed straight for the Humane Society an adopted me.
“I was SO Happy. I’d preddy much just given up hope. I mean, obviously, I’m not beautiful or cute or young, or fluffy. Plus, I ree-lyze I look Preddy Scary if you don’t get to know the Real Me an I have like, a zillion scars. So I ended up stayin’ at the Humane Society for a preddy long time.
Thank Lassie, they have this program called Dolly’s Dream, which helps them take care of harder-to-Adopt pooches like me or ones that have other physical issues for a longer time than usual.”
“Woof, Thatcher, you an your Furever Mom were Totally Meant To Be Together. An I haff to say, I applaud your Crispy Biscuits attitude. It cudda gone another way. So what’s life like these days?”
“Thanks, Mr. Bonzo! I’m just SO Happy! I sometimes can’t remember the bad stuff. I have the Best Mom Ever, an Grampa Carl an Gramma Mary Ann, too. Also, I learned that my Mom, an now me, are related to a human who wrote a book that got to be REAL FAME-us an even got to be made into MOO-vies. Before Mom adopted me, she got go to a place on the other side of a very large buncha wader, an meet her relatives. It’s called, lemme think, ITTLE-ee. An they all have the same name as us: Coppola.
“I’ve been going to REE-hab cuzza the bad shape I was in. I love REE-hab. My fave part’s walkin’ in a sorta pool of wader with funny floor that moves and I walk on it but I don’t get anywhere. I thought there was something wrong at first but that’s how it’s s’pose to be. It helps my mussels and energy, an Arthur something or other, an also helps me loose the weight I gained waitin’ for a Furever Famly.”
“Do you have any pooch pals?” I queried.
“I um, well, I do have a grrrlfren,” he grinned. “Bella, she’s a Schnauzer. Then, up at Gramma an Grampa’s, there’s Rufus, a German Shepherd, an Hound Dog, a Bassett. Also Moka. When I first met him, he was a wobbly liddle baby cow. A CAFF. I’m very gentle with him. Also with liddle dogs. I ackshully pru-FUR small poocheroos. (Sometimes, big dogs make me remember stuff I don’t WANNA remember.)”
“I totally understand, Thatcher.”
“Hey, you wanna see my room, Mr. Bonzo?”
“You have your own ackshul ROOM?”
“Yep!”
It was Super Cool Kibbles. All white, with ackshul human FURR-ni-chur. A comfy bed with fluffy covers an pillows. Anna chair, anna dresser, anna VUE, an his food an wader. His nice big crate was there too, so he can sleep there if he wants, but he doesn’t HAFF to.
“Woof, Thatcher, you have such a great life!”
“You know, Mr. Bonzo,” he reflected, “I sometimes think I was rescued from Dire Straights so I could help others. Me an Mom are lookin’ into me gettin’ uh-VAL-you-waited to be a Therapy Dog so I could help Pooches Less Fortunate.”
Headin’ home, I was thinkin’ about how Cool Kibbles it is that Thatcher’s seekin’ a Higher Purpose and wantin’ to help Pooches In Need, like he was helped. He sure has the doganality. I can’t wait to learn about his next chapter.
