Nicole Cocuy is a sophomore communication studies major and The Current’s Opinions Editor. Outside of school, she spends most of her time training her 5-month-old yorkie Picasso. With her story, she hopes that people understand the importance of adopting dogs, rather than buying them. She also hopes to inspire others to rescue pets.
My first best friend was a grouchy, but lovable shih-tzu named Chui. Chui was welcomed to my family when I was 1-year-old, just 3 pounds of hair and energy. We grew up together. When I learned how to walk, I pushed him around in my Fisher Price shopping cart and we chased each other around the house. My parents had demanding careers when I was growing up — they were in the office or out of town more often than they were at home — but I was never alone. Chui was there for me for every achievement, every birthday and every pre-adolescent heartbreak.
When I was about 10, my mission became to find a companion for my grandfather as caring and loyal as Chui. My grandmother passed away in 1998. For the first few years following her death, my dad and uncles supported him and kept my grandfather company. They took him to church, treated him to lunch, and watched “Sabado Gigante,” an incredibly trashy yet horribly amusing Spanish TV show, with him every Saturday. But, after a few years, my dad’s visits to my grandfather’s grew scarce. My dad and uncles moved on from the loss of their mother and my grandfather tried to follow their lead. But, when I looked into his eyes, I could tell he still mourned over the death of the love if his life. Thus, my quest began.
In December 2004, I dragged my family to the Broward County Humane Society to find my grandfather a furry little friend as a Christmas gift. The Humane Society was the ideal place to find my grandfather’s companion.
The abandoned, broken-hearted and, in many cases, abused dogs deserved a second chance as much as my grandfather did. There, we found a shih-tzu/cocker spaniel mix with a spunky attitude and the biggest brown eyes — Diamond. My family fell in love with her instantly and we adopted her. We named her Misty — a new name to signify a new life.
Unfortunately, my plan failed. Although my grandfather’s face lit up when we presented Misty to him, he was slowly growing more senile. I was too innocent and naïve to understand that what he needed was a caregiver, not more responsibility. My family hired a caregiver, but we had no idea what to do with Misty.
“One dog is enough,” my mom complained, “I don’t want another dog.”
I cried, begged and pleaded to my dad, the firm leader of my household, who is incapable of saying no to my tears. He knew that returning her to the Humane Society was not an option. Unfortunately for my mom and fortunately for Misty, my family decided to make her a permanent resident of the Cocuy household.
Shortly after taking her home, her abused past became apparent. She was shaky and nervous and would not let any men, particularly my dad, anywhere near her. She cowered behind me whenever anyone reached for a newspaper or magazine. But when I tried to console her, she snapped at me. She even distanced herself from Chui, a grumpy, old and completely harmless dog. The vet told us that dogs are typically nervous the first few days in a new home. However, Misty’s erratic behavior lasted a couple weeks and signaled a deeper problem than nervousness. We didn’t know for sure if she was abused in the past because the Humane Society did not release that information, but all of the signs were there. We decided to give her space and hoped that she would eventually come to love us.
One day, when I was preparing for tennis practice, I made a breakthrough. I accidentally dropped my tennis ball and it bounced across the room. Misty intently watched it, sprinted after it, and returned it to me. Surprised by her sudden eagerness to play, I threw it again. Again, she caught the ball and retrieved it. This was the first time we played without her sprinting off in fear. She even let me pet her after a couple days of playing catch.
Gradually, she made the transition from “nervous stranger” to “new best friend.” She sat with us when we watched TV as a family. She greeted us, even my father, every time we walked through the door. Chui became her new companion, and they always looked out for each other. Misty used to fear strangers. Now, she is the first to welcome a guest into our home. Although it took her several months to realize this, Misty knew that she was in a home that loves her and would never hurt her. Unfortunately, Chui passed away in 2008 from old age. Misty and I mourned together and bonded over our shared heartbreak. Chui’s death made us closer than ever and, she has slept in my room ever since.
Although my initial plan to find my grandfather a furry companion failed, Misty came into my life for a reason. Her transformation inspired me to pursue an even greater mission: become a dog foster parent and offer love and necessary care to abused and abandoned dogs, giving them temporary homes until they find a new, loving family. Being a dog foster parent is a realistic and effective way to emotionally heal these heart-broken pups.
All dogs with troubled pasts deserve second chances and I aspire to provide as many second chances as possible.
