We called her 'Copper,' but she was good as gold

Copper

Tomorrow, Joseph and I are bringing our beloved German Shepherd, Copper, to the vet to be put to sleep. Those of you who know my husband, having read his column for 20-plus years, know how he – we – feel about Copper. She has been with us since birth, for nine very short years. I suppose anyone who has had a beloved dog can understand what losing our Copper means to us – especially to Joseph and our youngest daughter.

You know what I mean. Those big, beautiful eyes … what other animal in nature has eyes like a dog's? Their expressions are extraordinary, given that their faces are covered with fur, masking the very things humans use, voluntarily or not, to express emotions – the human mouth, eyes and brow being a testament to humanity's humanness. God made men for relationships and gave us every ability to express our emotions without ever uttering a word – it's all over our face. In this way, the mark of God's love is the gift of dogs. Dogs are indeed special in the animal world.

We have only to look at our beloved pups, and we know, He made dogs for a special purpose (yes, I know dogs are well-bred wolves, for those who snickered at this sentence). God gave mankind a "best friend" because He loves us and knows what joy these creatures would bring to millions upon millions, since the dawn of time. There is purpose in all God's creatures, dogs being an outstanding example. I think about things like this a lot; maybe you do too.

When I look at a picture of a dog, or our beloved Copper's face, I see something transcendent. Dogs have the mark of God's providence, care and love all over their faces. They were made to be bred into companions, friends, helpers and protectors of God's image-bearers – mankind. They are there, looking up at us when we are down, and also in our joy. Our cheerful little buddies want only to please us any way they can. And how can an animal have that much expression in its face? You don't see it in deer, giraffes or bears. But dogs' mouths were made to look like a perpetual smile – and then there's their tongues and tails! Thank you, Lord, for their tongues and tails! Do you talk about your dogs as if they are human? There's good reason for this.

When I think of Copper, I picture her lying down for hours in our entry, right in front of the door's side window, waiting for her human, Joseph, to come driving up that driveway to greet him every time, as if he had just come home from war. I have always known the moment Joseph walks in the door by the racket of Copper leaping up and down on wood floors to greet the most loved person in her life. We have many scratches on our floors that mildly annoyed me, but now they are making me cry. The dog hair has bothered me as well, right up to the moment I found out about Copper's cancer. Odd. I think it is the little things that annoy us most about each other, and they are the annoyances we regret when they are gone and we sometimes say, if only that "thing" that annoyed me could be part of my life again.

Copper is a little girl to us, but you wouldn't think that if you saw her, if my mother is any indication. I know Copper is huge, but she seems like a dainty, feminine girly thing to Joseph and me. My mom unintentionally refers to her as "he" because Copper is an enormous 130-pound German Shepherd. This misapplication of Copper's "preferred pronoun" has always kind of annoyed me. "Mom! You've got to know Copper is a 'girl!' She's had two litters of puppies – 18 of them – for goodness' sake!" "Well, honey, he's, I mean she's just so big, so huge!" (Do your family's conversations seem to follow scripts so closely that you can recite them word-for-word? This is one of our weekly chats.) Inevitably, I look over at our "little" Copper Doodle staring adoringly up at Joseph, and I say, "She's such a girl, Mom – look at her! She belongs in a tutu." (Of course, Mom calls our two male cats "she"!)

I remember finding Copper. My husband had a German Shepherd as a boy and I love German Shepherds. I looked for a few years for a dog – we really couldn't afford to buy a Shepherd – well-bred Shepherds are not inexpensive. I found a breeder a few states over who had a special program: They breed the females twice and keep the pups, they don't have to pay for her food and medical, while you raise her – and you get a gorgeous, well-bred dog. I was overjoyed to bring this discovery to Joseph, probably my best gift ever to him. Joseph and Copper. A man and his dog. They have been inseparable for nine years. You see one, you see the other.

When we sit in the family room watching the news, Copper sits in front of Joseph, with her chin resting on a puffy little tuffet just so she can keep her face at the proper, needful height and angle to look up into his face – for hours. Joseph's hand or foot is, reciprocally, in a constant petting motion, mostly her belly (because she likes it, he says in his defense). I've never seen anything like it. "Honey, anyone would like that! Come and rub my feet!"

You know what is special about dogs? When they stare adoringly at their master for the pure joy of beholding and pleasing their god-like human; they are adoring and serving us as we are called to love our Creator, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. It brings tears to my eyes to think of this, probably because I am emotional right now. But really, think of it; if only we all sought all our waking hours to look upon our God and please Him in every way.

Copper also uses her tuffets for sitting. I think she knows how much I revel in the adorableness of this pose. I was thinking, do I even have a picture of her sitting propped up, watching the TV with us? I went to the family room to have some time with her … I think I said something about the tuffet (which is really a sort of ottoman) and she just got up, plopped her rear-end down and struck a pose for me … which I captured on my phone. What a good dog.

Copper and her second litter.

Copper was supposed to be a protection dog – a worthy duty of doghood. She certainly is big enough to scare any menacing intruder away. But, well, she is just such a lover.

Raining, snowing, in the dead of night and early in the morning, I've daily heard the familiar sound of the entryway closet door opening, a leash's metal pieces banging against the door. There's the sound of a child – well, a 130-pound dog – jumping up and down to go for a walk with her "dad." In rounded numbers, that is a commotion I have heard over 19,710 times, if you count their return through the front door, which is just as noisy. That's one of the sounds of our home, like those familiar sounds that every family home has. Familiar and expected, noticed as much when they don't sound. "Where is Joseph, I wonder?" (I ask myself because I realize the sound of Copper's scramble to meet him hasn't been heard.)

Oh, I am so sad to think I won't see and hear those two together anymore! Oh, why don't I have more videos of the mundane things of our lives? Picturing Joseph sitting on the steps, putting on his shoes, jacket and hat before he puts on Copper's harness and leash, before he opens that door and those two buds go out on another companionable walk. Joseph, never put off for a minute taking Copper out exactly when she needed to no matter the weather or the circumstances. He's just so loyal and loving.

When that adorable fluff-ball with the one droopy ear came home with us nine years ago, I never, never, never expected her to become what she has been to our family, especially Joseph. I suppose we all in some sense can say, well, after all, it's a dog, it's not like the death of a family member, or cancer. That is true.

I will say that 2019 has been quite a year for us. Joseph had a stroke, and then another stroke quickly followed. My mom came home from an extended stay out West the moment she found out about Joseph's stroke. This is when we found out she had cancer. Now my husband's best buddy is going to leave us.

But God is good. He brings us only the trials we can bear, and we know that He is there for us in our pain and heartbreak. Our lives are filled with suffering and challenge. We bear the cross of a lifelong struggle – not only our suffering at the hands of others, but the struggle we suffer in battling our own weaknesses, selfishness and other sinfulness. We are refined and bettered, we are tried and tested. It is an outpouring of God's love in allowing us this opportunity to further our lifetime quest of sanctification while He provides us with His holy word in Scripture. All of which brings us closer to Him, learning to rest on His strength and love, and looking to our Savior's example as our guide to how we respond during the seasons of suffering we all go through. We are to overcome.

The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord. Such were the faithful words of one of the most beleaguered men in history.

It is true that it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved before. We've had seven cats, five dogs and too many other animals to count. Some people don't want animals because of the future inevitable pain of their loss. I understand, but I am so happy that we picked up that little fur ball with the floppy ear all those years ago. And I am glad God gave us dogs (and cats, and birds too). As Fox's Greg Gutfeld says, "Animals are great, animals are great."

Let me thank all of you who continue to pray for Joseph, me and WND. Thank you and God bless you.

I will return to give you an update on Joseph's recovery, which is something I have neglected.

Related columns by Joseph Farah:

The quiet passing of Li'l Cowgirl