Cosby Thunder Sanders, the world's most dignified yet delightfully mischievous Standard Poodle, crossed the rainbow bridge on December 1, 2025, surrounded by his family. Born on February 20, 2012, Cosby spent nearly fourteen years proving that beauty, brains, and a little stubbornness make for the perfect dog.

Cosby was famous for his gorgeous brown eyes, his curly postcard-worthy fur, his stubby tail and a bowtie and bandana collection that could rival any gentleman's wardrobe. Fresh from the groomer, he strutted around like he owned the place—because, frankly, he did.

His hobbies included: • Loudly announcing the arrival of every delivery driver. • Wrestling his brother with dramatic flair. • Eating leather watches (RIP to all the timepieces). • And perfecting the art of unzipping bags to steal snacks with zero evidence left behind.

Cosby believed all snacks belonged to him, especially the ones snuck to him behind Dad's back. He also believed all pillows belonged to him—particularly the Panama pillow from Covered Bridge, which he claimed as his personal throne. He frequently jumped onto his parents' bed, made a mess of the decorator pillows to find the perfect spot. And at bedtime, if he beat you to your own pillow, there was no chance you were getting it back. He could hog a pillow and whole king-sized bed like a champ.

He also had a signature move: if you stopped petting him before he was finished receiving affection, he nudged your hand with his nose until you corrected your mistake. He had standards.

Cosby adored the grandchildren, letting them climb on him, cuddle him, and occasionally attempt to ride him like a small horse. He took it all in stride, the picture of patience and gentle strength.

He was his dad's mealtime alarm clock, half-jumping onto him with both front paws when dinner was overdue. He was his mom's loyal shadow—if she moved, he moved. If she sat, he sat. If she breathed, he checked on her. Lap dog or not, if Mom was sitting, he believed her lap was a valid seating arrangement.

Cosby also had a very dramatic guilty conscience. If he was naughty, he sprinted under the dining room table as if no one would think to look there. When he was lonely, he howled with the voice of a furry opera singer, ensuring the entire neighborhood knew of his emotional distress.

He loved bowties, walks, his squeaky stuffed Santa, wrestling matches, kids, snacks, and being exactly where his family was. Everything about him—his humor, his beauty, his quirks, his devotion—will be missed more than words can capture.

Cosby lived fully, loved boldly, and left a Cosby-shaped imprint on the hearts of everyone who knew him. If heaven has grass, he's running through it at full speed, ears bouncing, looking as handsome as ever.

We love you, sweet Cosbers. Take care of him, Lord.