For Coco: Love Personified as a Dog
By Fernando Santos
I am sorry I haven’t been posting as often as I feel I should. I honestly don’t know how many people read this blog, or whether this post will ever be read. But I believe in the Universe, and I believe that words have power.
I learned this when I was a little kid trying to cheat in school. My idea was to make notes that I could consult during tests, but I ended up learning everything simply by writing it down. Right now, I am trying to do the same thing.
By writing, I want to reach the ends of the Universe. I want to write about gratitude, love, and heartbreak. I hope that, for as long as the internet exists, people in the future can read this and learn about a force, an entity, love personified as a dog: my little Coco.
I started writing this post when Coco was first diagnosed with a brain tumour, shortly before her seventh birthday. At the time, my heart was breaking into a thousand pieces, but I wanted to share her story and her pictures with the world.
I am finishing it now, after having to say goodbye.
Our Little Pack
We have three French bulldogs.
We brought Coco home to keep our first boy, Rocco, company. She was one year younger than him, and they became inseparable almost immediately. They both got us through lockdown, and eventually, we moved out of London to Worthing so they could have a real home with a garden together.
When Coco was four years old, we let her and Rocco mate. She carried eight puppies in her little belly. Sadly, it was too many for her. She gave birth naturally, but only one puppy survived. We named her Halo.
Rocco, Coco, and Halo became a tight little pack. Every night, Coco would play tug-of-war with her daughter. She guarded me with complete devotion. Whenever I called out, “Come to Mamma,” she came running, no matter where she was or what she was doing.
Coco, Rocco, and Halo even walked me down the aisle on our wedding day. Coco wore a beautiful little dress for the occasion. She had a few special outfits over the years, including a little Santa costume at Christmas.
She loved lying on her back with her head resting on my chest while I kissed her and rubbed her belly. Whenever I stopped, she would shake one little paw in the air, demanding more. Her favourite treats were chicken and fish fresh off the barbecue. She loved sunbathing in the morning sun, and she loved scaring the postman out of his skin. Her absolute favourite sin was ripping up the post.
Coco was fiercely loyal. She never cared much for exploring; she would much rather stay at home, snuggled up close to us.
In bed, she slept right by our heads. That was her spot.
The Day Everything Changed
The 17th of July started as a sunny Friday. It had been a hot summer in the UK, but that day was fresher, around 20 degrees. Because Coco was a French bulldog—a breed known for respiratory challenges and trouble regulating body temperature—we were always very careful about taking her out in warm weather. Before anyone judges us, we live in a big house with a big garden, and all our dogs have access to the outdoors whenever they want via a doggy flap.
Later that afternoon, when it was cooler, we took her to the local pub. She was in great spirits and felt so excited on the walk back. Then, without warning, she collapsed and began seizing on the pavement.
In an instant, my partner Paul’s life and mine were turned upside down.
We rushed her straight to the vet. The initial thought was that she had suffered heatstroke, though we felt that was unlikely since it had not been terribly hot. Over the weekend, she seemed mostly like her usual self, though we noticed she was losing a bit of movement in her right legs.
On Sunday evening, during the World Cup final, she seized again. Halo, her daughter, has epilepsy, so we gave Coco some emergency anti-seizure medication and took her back to the clinic. That marked the beginning of a long ordeal of blood samples, appointments, and worry. I even set up a little desk in the living room so I could work right beside her, because that was where she felt safest and most comfortable.
Coco was still acting like herself, but her mobility problems were growing worse. One night, I noticed she wasn’t moving properly and looked terrified just trying to stand up. While waiting for an MRI referral, we rushed her back to the vet and ended up in an emergency appointment at the Cambridge University Veterinary School Hospital.
That was where we received the heartbreaking news. Coco had an aggressive brain tumour called a glioma.
The neurologists told us nothing could cure her. Even with advanced options like radiotherapy or chemotherapy, the best prognosis would offer only weeks, or perhaps a couple of months.
Fighting for Coco
From that moment, we did everything in our power to give Coco the best possible life. We researched every available medical treatment and decided we would try chemotherapy as soon as the veterinary referrals were finalised.
Against all adversity, she remained the exact same dog, even though the tumour occupied roughly 20 percent of her brain. She stayed in wonderful spirits. She still growled at her daughter, guarded her favourite spots, loved us fiercely, and remained devoted to our family.
Coco’s birthday was coming up on the 15th of August. Knowing her prognosis was short, we organised an early birthday party for her on the 1st of August. Friends and family came from all over to see her, and she was fantastic. Looking at her that day, you would never have guessed she was living with such a serious condition.
The weekend was bright and sunny. For a brief, hopeful moment, we genuinely thought the anti-inflammatory treatments were working and that she was beating the odds.
Saying Goodbye
This past Monday was another good day. Coco showed real, comforting signs of improvement. But that evening, right around bedtime, she began having seizures again.
Even after we administered two full doses of her emergency rescue medication, the seizures would not stop. We could see how severely her brain was being affected. She looked lost, disoriented, and kept spinning continuously to the left.
We rushed her to the emergency vet at midnight. After a careful examination, the vet gently explained that the mass was now permanently affecting her quality of life and basic brain function. We made the heartbreaking decision to let her go, choosing to protect her from suffering and continuous seizures.
We said our final goodbyes to our little girl.
She now rests peacefully at the back of our garden, right beside the puppies she lost years ago, where Halo was the sole survivor.
Who Coco Really Was
I do not want anyone to remember Coco only for leaving us just shy of her seventh birthday.
Coco was a special kind of being. She was a spirit, a soul, an entity, and an energy that came into our lives to bless us with seven unforgettable years. She was fiercely protective, devoted, and loving. Without ever speaking a word, she taught us what love without boundaries truly means.
She transformed our entire world for the better. Our whole house, and our other two Frenchies, revolved completely around her. We called her Queen Coco. But to me, she was always my Titinininha—a Portuguese nickname from my native language, given to her because she was so tiny when she was young.
We were so blessed and privileged to share life with her. She was always the first to greet us in the morning, always waiting by the door whenever Paul or I stepped out, and always the first to jump up with total gusto in everything she did. She had us wrapped completely around her little paws. The running joke in our house was that it was Coco’s home, and she just kindly let us live in it.
She was Mamma’s and Dadda’s girl.
We even had a favourite story about her. We said that under the stairs, inside her little house, Coco had a secret control room where she controlled the world. Whenever something happened that kept Paul and me home—a car breaking down, a strike, or bad weather—we would look at each other and say, “Coco is controlling events again.” We joked that she created glitches in the world just so we would stay home with her.
It was a loving story we told ourselves, but part of me still wonders if it was true.
The Side Effect of Love
They say the only flaw in dogs is that their lives are shorter than ours. Coco was here for seven years of our lives, but there is immense comfort in knowing that we were there for all of hers. From the day we met her at Paddington Station to her very last breath, she knew she was loved beyond words. At the very end, we whispered to her just how much she was loved, and always would be.
I swear I can still feel her energy and presence all over our house. Life has lost a little bit of its magic.
They say that grief and heartbreak are simply the side effects of loving deeply. The pain we carry now reflects the immense love we shared with her. Sometimes it feels hard to breathe. I know wounds heal over time, but healed wounds are still scars. We lost a pillar of our family life, and things will never be the same without her.
Yet, at the same time, I am so deeply happy and grateful for the gift of her life. What an honour it was that you chose us, Coco.
My Tetena, I hope we meet again and again in every lifetime. I used to joke that in our previous lives, Paul and I were the dogs and you were our human guardian. It would be so beautiful to welcome you back one day as our human daughter.
Thank you from the very bottom of our hearts and souls. I know that one day we will meet again where physical limitations no longer exist, and we can play together as one energy. You are forever in our hearts, and I promise to remember you every single day for the rest of my life.
My Knitting Creations for Coco
Here are some of the special knitting creations I made for Coco. I never got to make a true Gigante Knit for her because of the scale, but I learned so much about the craft by creating these small pieces for her to wear.
In Loving Memory
If Coco’s story touched your heart, I would be deeply grateful if you would consider making a small donation to Wadars, our local animal rescue charity here in Worthing.
Thank you so much for reading. If you have lost a pet or are currently grieving, please feel free to reach out to me directly at fernando@giganteknits.com.
If you can spare a quiet thought for my little girl today, please ask that her energy stays close to her Mamma. I needed her far more than she ever needed me.
God bless you all.
And God bless our little Queen Coco.
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