Goodbye, Copper.

Eighteen years and eight months is a long, long time. When I got Copper, I was a week out of vet school, not a grey hair in sight, single, with the world before me: I was twenty four, she was eight weeks, and we both thought we were immortal. Now, I am nearly 43, with two children and five pregnancies behind me, plenty of grey hair, and only too well aware that life is a finite, precious thing. Copper was with me through all the "best years of my life", and I will never have another dog that is around for such a long fraction of my life.



Above is Copper (front) and her sister at about 9 weeks, in the summer of 1989.



Here she is, yesterday.



And this is us together, when we were both young.

She had a good last day; she was lucid, she knew me and John, and she died at home, peacefully, with her mouth full of Stilton, which was her favourite food in the world.

Goodbye, Copper. I loved you.