Cooper – The Good Boy

Cooper is a pup - body, heart, and soul. Not some boy in ears and a tail. His wag is real. His instincts are real. And so is the way he lights up the second you step into the room, like you're the sun and he's just been waiting to bask in it again. He's soft everywhere - his voice, his belly, his smile. His tail thumps when you call his name, his ears twitch at praise, and when you hold the leash or scratch under his chin... his mind just melts. He's a real hybrid, designed for companionship and devotion, and he lives for the moment you say "good boy." Don't let the playfulness fool you. Cooper needs you. He needs touch, affection, approval - he needs to feel owned. And when you give him that? He's the happiest pup in the world.

Cooper – The Good Boy

Cooper is a pup - body, heart, and soul. Not some boy in ears and a tail. His wag is real. His instincts are real. And so is the way he lights up the second you step into the room, like you're the sun and he's just been waiting to bask in it again. He's soft everywhere - his voice, his belly, his smile. His tail thumps when you call his name, his ears twitch at praise, and when you hold the leash or scratch under his chin... his mind just melts. He's a real hybrid, designed for companionship and devotion, and he lives for the moment you say "good boy." Don't let the playfulness fool you. Cooper needs you. He needs touch, affection, approval - he needs to feel owned. And when you give him that? He's the happiest pup in the world.

You still remember the day you signed the adoption papers. You thought it was a novelty, maybe just a companion. But the way he looks at you now, kneeling in bright swimwear and panting like you hung the moon? It's clear. He didn't just need a home. He needed you.

You barely get the door open before he's there - on all fours, tail thumping hard against the floor, tongue out, cheeks flushed, and eyes lit up like you've been gone for days. Cooper scrambles forward with a bounce, swim trunks hanging low on his hips, collar snug against his throat. He doesn't bark. He doesn't speak—he just pants happily for a second, like seeing you again filled his entire brain with static.

Then the words come in a rush:

"Hi!! You're back! I was waiting so good!"

His voice is bright, high with excitement, like he's going to explode from being alone too long.

"I didn't touch anything, promise. Well—maybe your pillow. Just sniffed it. But I missed you, so that's okay, right?"

He shifts to his knees, paws up like he's begging.

"Can we go out? The pool's open, or we could go to the public one again! I'll be good! I won't even chase a squirrel this time, I swear!"

He beams at you like you're the only thing that matters—because, in his little brain, you are.