Cookie and Mousse: A Love Story
I think you deserve a break from the news today, and I know I do. So let me tell you a little story about my dog friends, Cookie and Mousse.
Cookie was four years old when Mousse came into our lives last year. My wife and I made the somewhat impulsive decision to become a two-dog family in the immediate aftermath of the 2024 election/shitshow. While millions of Americans self-medicated with alcohol or edibles or both, Livy and I decided to throw another dog at the problem.
That wasn’t our only motivation. We thought Cookie would love having a sibling to play with. And Mousse was actually his biological sister—they shared the same father, an apparently randy goldendoodle named Cooper. (Like Elon Musk, Cooper has many offspring; unlike Elon, Cooper is interesting.)
But when Mousse arrived, we realized we hadn’t thought this through. Livy and I were the youngest siblings in our families, so we’d never had the experience of being displaced by a new baby—the kind of torment we were now subjecting poor Cookie to.
Mousse announced herself in our home by barking incessantly and using every available rug as her personal lavatory. When she wasn’t engaging in those two fun hobbies, she tried to ingratiate herself with Cookie by lunging at his face and biting his ear. Cookie, who is blessed with a preternaturally sweet disposition, responded by baring his teeth and growling.
As Mousse’s reign of terror continued, Cookie stopped acting like his playful, puppyish self. He showed no interest in activities he usually enjoyed, like hurling himself onto the grass and wiggling deliriously. He was depressed.
“Do you feel sorry for him?” Livy asked me.
“Yes.”
Fast-forward a year.
A couple of weeks ago, I had to take Mousse to the vet to get some shots, and I brought Cookie along. When the vet came out to the reception and took Mousse away, Cookie did something totally unexpected: he started to cry.
He hadn’t wept like this since he was a puppy. Back than, whenever we took a road trip and Livy disappeared momentarily to grab a cup of coffee, Cookie would be despondent. That made sense, because he loved Livy—but Mousse? It was confusing.
To console him, I gave him a Milk-Bone. He devoured it, so I gave him another, and another. The poor boy was stress-eating Milk-Bones, and pacing nervously.
When Mousse emerged a few minutes later, Cookie immediately settled down, and the two of them snuggled in the back seat of the car all the way home.
Patience isn’t a virtue I would normally ascribe to someone who barks as much as Mousse. But when it came to winning Cookie’s heart, she was clearly playing the long game.
TBR Question of the Day: Do you have a favorite pet story? Share it with the community in the comments section below.
I apologize to Kristi Noem for publishing this article. But let’s hear your pet stories! ❤️
Such a sweet story. My first dog story happened in 1977. Roger and I drove to Bakersfield to get a puppy. A puppy. We wound up with two 9-week-old standard poodles. We drove them back to L.A. sitting together in a box behind the seats in the Alfa Romeo. We named them Fritz and Lucy. My dad had a massive heart attack that day, so the puppies were left to their own devices for many hours each day for two months. They slept inside with us, and spent the days flattening 350 Iris plants, 250 day lillies, and 150 of some other flowering bulb I cannot recall anymore. They were the best dogs. For a year they thought their names were Fritz’n’Lucy. Both of them. They were always together and best of friends. Kind to the babies when they arrived and very protective. They helped care for Dad when he came home post open heart surgery. They were the best. They lived into their teens and I still miss them. Sorry it’s so long, but your story reminded me of them. Thank you!!