BIOGRAPHY-THE EARLY YEARS:
Copper was born on October 1, 1995 of questionable origin. Her early years were traumatic. She was originally raised as an indoor pet, but was turned into an "outdoor" dog before being surrendered to the Animal Assistance League shelter when she was 14 months old. I adopted Copper when she had been at the shelter less than two days. I can still see her sitting in the very first stall, quite as a mouse while everyone else was barking their heads off, looking around as if to say, "What the hell am I doing here with all of these dogs!?!" Bill and I had just bought our first house in Chesapeake, VA and I needed someone to keep me company while he was in Puerto Rico for two months and a companion for the long weeks of training and deployments that were to come.
The first day we left her alone, she went berserk and completely ripped down the entire set of vertical blinds from the front window . . . the front picture window. I'm still not quite sure how a 50 lb dogs managed to dismantle an 8 foot section of mounted blinds, but I would soon discover Copper was a dog of many talents. Apparently the trauma and/or neglect of her youth had led her to develop a severe case of Separation Anxiety - usually expressed by peeing on the pillow of whomever had pissed her off the most lately. With a king sized bed, it was not hard to tell which side of the sheets she was targeting.
We tried crate training, but apparently in addition to separation anxiety, Copper suffered from a bad case of claustrophobia. When she started getting raw spots on her "elbows" from laying in the drool (from all the panting) in the cage we considered cancelling the crate training. When she chipped one of the big pointy doggy teeth trying to chew her way out of the metal cage she was sprung for good. Many people have tried to contain her in various ways over various years, but none of them worked. I remember one time in particular that Bill's Uncle Mike and Aunt Beth tried to restrict her to the laundry room while everyone was out at Aunt Kim's new farm. Copper jumped over/chewed through/used her magical powers to get around the baby gate and proceeded to shit all over their guest room . . . . never leave a door open to a room with a bed if Copper if going to be alone in the house!
Other memorable moments from the Chesapeake years include one day when we were still crate training. There was a giant bag of Styrofoam packing peanuts next to her crate when I left for work. When I got home, there were packing peanuts all over the floor and the entire plastic bag was shredded in the dog crate, with the dog!
Then there was the time I found a bottle of red wine uncorked and spilt over the carpet under the wine rack, while the bottle was still on the bottom shelf of the wine rack. Logically I know it was probably a fermentation/pressure issue, but to this day, I'm still pretty sure Copper uncorked the wine. Probably because this was shortly after the Gingerbread Man "garnishment" on the Christmas presents under the tree disappeared . . . all 15 Gingerbread Men and Women - gone - without a piece of wrapping paper torn or a present being moved.
As we prepared to sell the Chesapeake house and move to Virginia Beach to be closer to Bill's job, Copper also managed to lock herself the closet where she attempted to dig her way out . . . after we already and an offer on the house. Anyone who's ever tried to match up mauve carpet on short notice can understand what an extreme pain in the ass that was.
BIOGRAPHY-THE BEACH YEARS:
Since I had the only dog on the planet that has no interest in swimming, the beginning of our time in Virginia Beach was pretty uneventful. Run on the beach? Awesome! Chase a ball into the surf? Sign her up! Get to the point where she can no longer touch the bottom of the ocean and actually had to swim? U-turn back to the beach. Our first house in Virginia Beach was a rental. For some reason this house inspired Copper to stop peeing on the floor, but start digging in the trash. Since we weren't overly familiar with Virginia Beach, Bill and I planned to rent for a year while we looked for a house to buy. We shortened that time span by about three months when we found out we were pregnant.
Bill was busy with training and travelling for work, so Copper hung out with me during my first trimester when I gave up caffeine and quite smoking (anyone who puts up with that deserves a medal), my second trimester where she made sure I got my exercise by "reminding" me every morning that we needed to take a walk - before I went to work, and my third trimester when I was waddling around trying to pack up the house. She travelled to PA with me for baby showers - twice - and didn't eat any of my gifts or pee on any of the baby clothes. Progress!
By the time I was 7 months pregnant, we had bought our "forever" home. There was a huge back yard with a 6 foot fence for Copper, a big man cave garage for Bill and 2700 square feet of inside for me and whatever children came along, despite the fact that I had been reassured by my OB several times that I was only carrying one. Copper made friends with the dog next door and I got down to the business of a birthin' a baby.
Bill was on deployment when I went into labor with K and I was a little worried that Copper would be jealous of this squalling human thing I was bringing home. After all, she had been my baby for 7 years. I should have saved myself some wrinkles. My two girls have been thick as thieves since the day I brought K through the front door. We had to keep the brakes on the cradle, because every time K cried, Copper would put her paws on the rail and pull herself up so she could check things out. Then she would look at me like, "Hello? Aren't you gonna do something?" When K got moved to her crib, Copper would sleep under it. When the mattress was all the way at the top, Copper could actually sit under the crib, and frequently did, to keep an ear out for problems. And if K cried for more than 5 minutes, Copper would hunt me down and let me know about it.
When K had pneumonia at 4 weeks old and had to spend a week in the hospital, Copper guarded the home front. A few months later, she pulled a Babies-R-Us shopping bag off the table, rooted a giant can of baby formula powder out of the bag, pulled the plastic lid off, somehow managed to pop the soda-can type tab (and pull the cover back a bit) and proceeded to roll the can around the floor until enough formula spilled out to leave a trail . . . she had the runs for days.
When Bill moved out of the house and wanted a divorce, Copper would jump into bed with me or nudge my arm when I was laying on the couch crying buckets. She would hang with me in the back yard while I chain smoked Marlboro Lights and wondered what my future would bring. She was a constant source of support and security. Before her hearing started to go, she was a combination doorbell and alarm system, always barking her head off when someone got within 20 feet of the house. She was great for making you feel secure and making sure door to door salesmen didn't hang out too long.
One time she pulled an entire rotisserie chicken off the counter, popped the lid off and ate the entire thing - bones and all - K and I had to find something else for dinner and Copper looked pregnant for days.
In addition to being my loyal companion for almost 13 years, Copper has been Kaitlyn's best friend for six and a half. Copper guarded her as a crying baby, happily served as a vacuum cleaner through the toddler years, never complained about having her ears pulled, her hair tugged or being dressed up as a superhero. She helped me walk Kaitlyn to the bus stop during kindergarten and, even though I usually drive K to school these days, the three of us made a final walk to the bus stop this morning. Kaitlyn knew this day was coming. She didn't know it was going to be today, but I'm pretty sure she'll handle the news okay. Whenever we've talked about it in the past, she mostly wonders how soon it will be before she can get a puppy and whether or not (based on our disastrous attempt to raise fish) the vet has a giant toilet. I'm pretty sure anyone who can make a joke when faced with such sadness is going to be okay.
So, after a final trek to the bus stop this morning, Copper and I hung out in the back yard for awhile . . . she sniffed and I chain smoked. During the 5 minute ride to the vet's office, I left the window all the way down so she could stick her head out and feel the wind in her face one last time. The staff at the vet was amazing, we were immediately sent to the back room for privacy, the technician and vet both explained the procedure, Copper was taken back for a catheter and then brought back to the room. We settled her comfortably on a blanket and Dr. Kerr administered a syringe full of saline followed by a syringe full of medicine to stop her heart. The entire thing took less than two minutes. She went peacefully while I stroked her back and Dr. Kerr and the assistant stroked her head and paws. The vet listened to her heart and gave me a nod to let me know she was gone. After I final kiss to Copper's forehead, I was gone, too.
Copper was not always a good dog. She was usually funny, always mischievous and a pain in the ass more times than not. She peed on the carpet, would steal any food that wasn't nailed down and would wander around the neighborhood if the gate happened to be open. No, she was not always a good dog . . . but she was a great friend.
Wow! I have tears and chills. What an awesome tribute.
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