A Portrait of Relentless

img_0213

During the countless cups of coffee and morning chats on our back deck, it seemed that my wife and I always had company. It was rarely our kids, who were either in school or sleeping (if the weekend), but a boy named Cooper.

Cooper, at his best fighting weight, was anywhere from 36 to 40 pounds of pure muscle covered with a coat of black fur. A terrier mix, he was a pup that my daughter (with my wife) rescued from our local Humane Society.

My daughter, who was 11 years old when she picked Cooper out of a line up of dogs waiting for a home, selected him because he stood at attention, wagging his tail with his head cocked while looking at her.

“Look at him, Mom – he’s such a good boy,” she would say that day. It was to be the first of many Oscar caliber performances from our new pet.

We Called Him “Houdini”

He was our best friend, but at times his own worst enemy. At his weight, he was a small canine, but with the heart of a lion. Relentless, a savage protector of his family and property. If you came within 500 feet of my house, you heard the warnings.

He was a master escape artist – hence the nickname – somehow squeezing through closing doors and slipping off leashes. Swift, cunning, bold and misbehaving. We’ve never seen a pet quite like him.

He was an anxiety ridden, aggressive alpha male who let you know he was in charge, whether in the house or yard.

img_1545His stories of misbehavior and destruction will entertain us for years to come. The infamous Christmas Eve rampage, where he ate an entire tray of baked cookies while shredding a barricade of wrapped gifts (all of which were on a dining room table) is deserving of its own special holiday post.

Although he created his own special brand of trouble, nothing but unconditional love spilled from that massive heart for his large network of family and friends.

Relentless Until the End

Cooper’s life was a never ending search for food, looking for trouble, and chasing bunnies. We had hoped that the end of his story would be like a movie script ending – he would lay on his bed space one last time at night, and not wake up with the morning sun.

But that wasn’t Cooper, he was too relentless to just lay down and quit. If he was finally going to lose a fight, he was going down swinging.

For years, Cooper roamed and ran through our large back yard. He played with our kids img_1382as they grew, tirelessly pursued lightning quick rabbits, and ran to my wife when she called him, sprinting through the grass and up the deck stairs to get the treat she had for him.

On his last day, before the final trip to the vet, I carried him to the back yard for one more roam. Nearly blind, his walk was a stagger now, his sessions of sprinting a memory. As I allowed him a few minutes on the land that was the kingdom that he ruled, a large rabbit stood nearby, standing guard.

The rabbit didn’t move, or flinch. There was no running. I looked at him with curiosity. It was as if he could tell that Cooper couldn’t see him, couldn’t initiate the chase – the chase that our friend ran with ferocious passion for 16 years.

I imagined that the rabbit stood stationary as a silent salute to a foe who could no longer compete. A salute of job well done. Life well lived. A race well run.

This was Cooper.

Cooper was born May 2003 with the original name, ironically enough, of Moxie. After unsuccessful stints in two previous homes, he was adopted with love by my daughter Gabrielle on May 12th, 2007. Her Mom paid the adoption fee. From that day, he continued to keep us on our toes until his peaceful passing on April 5th of this year.

We will never be the same.

Winning at the Lottery of Life

diceWhether fair or not, there’s a lingering stereotype that Italian Americans can be fond of the activity of gambling. While I will admit to playing an occasional football game, poker match, or horse race in the past, wagering my money is not something I do anymore.

However, when the Powerball or state lottery here in New York rise to obscene dollar amounts in prize money, most of my office mates (and myself) pool our money and go buy some tickets for the win.

When I was younger, I used to take my Grandfather to the local mom and pop grocery where he could play his lottery games. He liked to win (and he did hit big a couple of times), but he mostly liked to play for fun.

We play for fun as well, but I find it interesting how people can become overwhelmed with an urge to play all the time, for the remote chance at millions. Because that one big score will change your life and make all of your problems disappear.

If we could only win.

That one prize takes all of the issues of life, the ones that consistently beat you down, and makes them go away. Forever.

I’ve heard it from people who don’t have two nickels to rub together. And from people with asset portfolios in the seven figure range. Interesting, right?

For most, the lottery is nothing but a pipe dream. We can play, but we won’t win. We can fantasize about the new house, fancy car, and exotic trip, but chances are we’ll be going to work the next day.

Should that depress you?

The answer to that question should be “no”. Because in the lottery of life,  you have already won.

You live in America. As much as our government tries to make a mockery of our systems, it’s still the best country you can call “home”.

We are in a time of unprecedented technology. Our every need and desire can be met. You, and you alone, can determine the level of your prosperity. All you need is hustle.

Here’s my favorite quote, that I will take credit for and believe to be the truth:

Any day you are above ground, in good health, and able to enjoy the company of friends and family, it’s a good day.

See? You have officially won the lottery!!

I can tell you, now at 50 years old, I have hit the lottery numerous times. You’ll guess that I’ll mention my wife and kids here, and you would be right.

How and when and where I met my wife was truly a lottery score. Nothing but total blind luck. I can only thank the alignment of the planets that night for finally getting me that “right place, right time” moment.

If you go back through the archives of this site, and read about other members of my family (especially the Sicilians), you’ll know that I practically owned the lottery growing up.

And the “friend lottery” is an example of where I continually cash in. My buddy Mike and I hung out for nearly 30 years before his passing in 2012. I can’t emphasize enough what a wonderful friend he was, and how fortunate I was to know him.

Lottery winners just don’t get that lucky.

Many of us will rate ourselves and our level of importance by the things we collect. The titles we acquire. The promotions we achieve. The time spent at the companies we work for.

The trinkets and toys that fill our lives. The stuff that lottery dreams are made of.

It all would be easier if our numbers would just come in. Life is a game of chance, God’s game. We already have the best of luck if we’re here, and get the chance to play.

You already know the truth. A lottery cash prize would be the icing on an already extraordinary cake.

Just play for fun. Because you’ve already won.

Like this post? There’s more on the way! Click “Follow” to receive new posts in your email box. It’s free!

Thank You For Being A Friend

Although we only knew each other for thirty years, it may as well have been a lifetime.

You were the “wingman”. The nightclubbing partner I needed in our heyday of the 80s.  Chasing skirts late into the night. You had a little bit of a wild child attitude in you, but our Roman Catholic upbringings steered us clear of any real trouble.

How many games did we go to at the old Yankee Stadium? Watching our pinstriped heroes play sport’s finest game, drinking our beers, our seats at the rail to spy the girls in their summer clothes, passing us by.

We haunted each others work places, me making the descent into the college rathskeller, you sitting at the bar of my parents’ restaurant. We had our drinks, smoked our cigarettes, and laughed long and uproariously at our jokes. God knows we weren’t that funny.

When I started dating the girl who would become my wife, not much changed. Still hanging out, three of us together now, in the restaurants, our places, in the smoky nooks of the Tap Room. Home away from home.

When my daughter was born, you were right there at the hospital to see her, just a couple of hours later. It’s a shame you won’t be here to hug her anymore.

On the winter day my son was baptized, you stood at the font as his Godfather, blessing him with holy water as we watched. I’m glad you were able to come to some of his games. I’m sad you won’t ever watch him swing the bat again.

You gave the finest best man toast in wedding history, deserving of the standing ovation you got. Against the backdrop of the story of first meeting my wife, you serenaded us (and a large reception crowd) with a favorite Sinatra song – on key, flawlessly, without hesitation.

When I watch it on video, I just laugh and shake my head, and wonder… how the hell did you pull that off?

How about hitting that replay button one more time? A little more “I’ve Got You Under My Skin”. Or better yet, how about just one more for the road? A toast to you this time, my friend, listening to the ultimate late night Sinatra torch ballad, with drink in hand. Just like we did in the old days.

You know how it goes…

Its quarter to three,
There’s no one in the place ‘cept you and me
So set em up Joe

…We’re drinking my friend
To the end of a brief episode
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road

Thanks for the memories.

Thank you for being my friend.

Michael Muscatello, 1949-2012