Tuesday, June 15, 2004
The Adventures of Cosmo, the Mostly Good Dog, Adventure the Eighth: Cosmo the Invincible
One thing that maybe hasn’t been made sufficiently abundantly clear about Cosmo is that he’s a brusier. He’s this kind of dog: one time Kel was at an ATM with him and a tough-looking passerby remarked aloud to her, “You’re safe.” (Confirming this story with her, she advised me that the proper response in such cases is, “Damn straight, now give me your money.") Many are the times bikers have stopped us on the street, wanting to breed him, or to fight him - presumably, with their own dogs. Canophobic children literally run screaming.
Of course, he’s a sweetheart, eager to make new friends – or, at worst, he’s blase’ about his popularity among the strangers who so often flock to him, one after the other, for the duration of an entire outing. The truth be told, the dog is a chick magnet, though that particular virtue of his is not one of which I am in a position to take advantage. But it’s obvious to all who meet him that Cosmo is a lover, not a fighter.
But on a few, a very few, occasions, he has been called upon, in his mind at least, to defend himself or his interests. In such situations, he is simply invincible.
Once at a party where several professional “dog people” had come with their pets, Coz was lounging respectfully with two other dogs - a little one and a pit mix with a big attitude. That’s not to imply she was a bad dog, she wasn’t in the least - but she had a strong personality and plenty of energy. At one point she tried to take a toy from Cosmo. He remonstrated with a bark, she bared her teeth and lunged to nip his jowls. He simply opened his mouth and caught hold of her head, held it firmly but not maliciously in the vice of his jaws for a few moments - till someone poured beer on his head and he released her. The other dog’s head swole up a little but he had been careful not to injure her - except for her pride, which was severely bruised. She was removed from the party, both for her recuperation and for her self-preservation. Snapping at Cosmo? That’s the canine equivalent of getting a 72-hour hold for being a risk to one’s own health and safety.
Another time I was walking him in the park when I stopped for some reason to use a payphone in the museum concourse. I was deep in conversation as the early morning park attended to its business - tai chi classes, arriving schoolkids on field trips pouring out of yellow busses, lone musicians scattered about practicing variously… and a gardener with a rake walking briskly toward a garbage can next to the phone where I was speaking. Coz did not like his attitude one bit. He didn’t see a gardener going to throw away a handful of trash – he saw an interloper, a stranger with a weapon and some kind of hidden agenda. Who was this guy? What was he carrying? Why was he coming at us so purposefully? He had to be stopped. Coz could have taken his leg clean off but instead only offered the canine equivalent of a shot across the bow: the tiniest pinprick of a bite, just to let him know he was violating our territory. Coz went right through his thick workpants to place a small clean scratch, barely breaking the skin, on the gardener’s calf. It happened in a flash, almost silently. The gardener wisely retreated; I reached down to stop the dog but he’d already stopped on his own, his work done. The gardener’s wound was miniscule; it healed quickly and without complications. A few days later the City Attorney’s office contacted us but declined to pursue the matter. They knew they were no match for Cosmo.
Then again, more typically of his personality, was the time we took him to Fort Funston as a young dog. The place teemed with dogs off-leash, coursing over iceplanted palisades, dogs of every description and temperament. At some point Coz joined a group of dogs playing with some shabby toy and wound up face to face with a good-sized goldie or some such with an alpha complex. The boys postured; Cosmo growled and snapped; the other dog lunged, barking hoarsely, and bit Coz in the ear. We both retrieved our dogs and the other’s owner berated us angrily: Coz had attacked hers, dangerous mutt, irresponsible ownership… We pointed out that Coz had 30 pounds and several inches of mouth over her dog; if he’d wanted blood he’d have taken it. Rather, it was Cosmo who bled, as her dog had escalated the conflict and Coz had declined to take the bait. Bloody but not defeated, Coz had clearly won that fight as well.
