Goodbye, Kosi Bear

11 years ago we brought home the cutest, fluffiest little Bernese Mountain Dog and Newfoundland mix… our Bernewfie – Kosi. 

We named her after the easiest Hungarian word we remembered, as a nod to our short time there and a way to truly individualize her. In Hungary, “köszönöm” means thank you, and “köszi” means thanks. At the time it wasn’t the meaning that we chose her name for, but the ease and uniqueness.  Now, the meaning means more, because all I can feel besides crushing grief, is thanks… thanks for loving her and being loved by her – for much beyond her breed’s life expectancy. 

She has been with Trav and I through our whole life together. Our first house, our engagement, and bringing each of our four children home. She followed me around as soon as I was pregnant with Lennon. She’d sit outside the bathroom as I got ready for work, just watching over me. She’d always sit as close as possible by the couch and nudge my hand over and over for head pats and ear scratches. She kept me company weekend after weekend when Travis was on the road. She was my best girl, my constant companion. 

I have memories of her running up and down the hill behind our house in the leaves as a puppy… falling and tumbling over and over again, so happy and full of life. Being able to carry her around only lasted so long, as she quickly grew to her large 120 lb self, resembling more a small bear than a dog, but always our extremely gentle giant. 

We couldn’t have picked a better dog to grow with our children. They don’t know a life without her, and our home feels so foreign and empty with her gone. Her size made her almost a large piece of furniture we had to locate and navigate around, and it feels so odd to not have her under feet. I think everyone in our family has tripped over her in the night because her dark fur blended in with the floor, Etta being the last to do so just a couple nights ago. I always wondered if Kosi got a kick out of it, a little prank or way of reminding us she was there. 

If she was upset to be demoted by Lennon, she didn’t show it, and once the high chair came out and she realized a baby was her easy access to food, she got up the second any of them were placed in it. She protected all the girls by always being close to them. 

She hated being alone. I think that’s one of the hardest parts I’m dealing with right now, knowing her body is away from us, waiting for cremation, not close by. Walking away from her was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. 

Up until two months ago, she’d climb our stairs and settle on the floor at the foot of Lennon and Vivi’s beds for the night, keeping watch over them. Then when I came up to bed, she’d get up and barge in our room and plant down at the bottom of ours. Knowing she was there made me feel safe, even if she was the farthest thing from a guard dog you can imagine. At our old house, I remember coming back after a week away and a mouse scurried across the floor. I screamed and Kosi just calmly watched it, completely unfazed. She did actually play the hero another time when a bird got in the house. Travis hates birds. In a very rare move, Kosi leaped up and grabbed it with her mouth and took it outside. Last year we had a rather intoxicated but extremely fearful girl show up on our property in the middle of the night. As the police tried to make sense of her story, she patted Kosi, who instead of barking at her, had made herself comfortable beside her. The girl patted her and called her by another dog’s name, going on about what a good boy she was. I remember the cops looking at me skeptically and me saying, “Yeah, that’s not her name. And she’s a she.” But Kosi was just happy to get some loving, she always was. 

She would lift her tired eyebrows and decide if something was worth getting up for. We could have anyone dogsit and she would love on them like family. She loved all our family, and they loved her, even though in the beginning she would corner them or almost knock them over in her happiness to greet them. 

Her old body has been failing her, making it so hard to do all the things she loved. Roaming our property and often our neighbours, moving quickly to find food scraps left unattended, and sleeping with us upstairs are all things she hasn’t been able to do the last few weeks. We’ve spent the last two months taking shifts sleeping with her downstairs, because we couldn’t listen to her whimpers from being alone down there and away from us, once the stairs became too difficult for her to climb. 

Friday night I slept beside her and woke up to her nudging my hand over her head. I spent an hour just her and I, patting her over and over, trying to convey to her how much she has always meant to me and always will. 

My heart is broken. We knew this day would come and yet trying to trudge through this grief with our kids is something you just can’t prepare for. I miss her fluffy hugs, her gentle nature, her companionship, and having her be the constant observer to our life. If only she could talk. At times, she was the most overstimulating part of parenting. She had her own witching hour, when she would bark constantly despite being fed, pet, or taken outside. She would also wait until I got all the girls upstairs for bed and I had one in the bath that I couldn’t leave, then start her barking to be let out, then to be let back in, only to bark five minutes later to be let back out. Some nights I’d run downstairs and open the door for her only to have her look at me then slump down stubbornly on the floor. I think she just didn’t want to feel forgotten. She was the first one after all, the first to be loved as our own, to be doted on.

Over the years the birthdays became more a silent, sad acknowledgment of her aging, than a celebration of her growth. Eleven years and one month… almost 80. I know we were lucky to have her so long, but her presence has always felt like a given. Life won’t be the same without her. Home doesn’t feel like home. Coming through the door to an empty house feels so wrong, just as closing the door behind us without a ‘Bye Kos’ does. I know in time it will get easier, but right now there is a gaping hole in my heart and I just want her to come home. Grief is the price we pay for love… and she was so, so loved. I’ll never stop missing her. My beautiful Kosi Bear. 💔