I was so full of the lessons and carols yesterday morning that I forgot what day it was. No matter, the radio soon reminded me that it was Beethoven’s special day. And that meant it was also the birthday of our very own, dearly departed Copper. So as I listened to the Seventh Symphony, the Coriolan Overture and the “Hammerklavier” Sonata, I was also thinking of a certain sweet doggie.

We never knew his real birthday, but December 16, 2006, was the day we brought him home from the Loudon County shelter. His debut performance involved slipping out of his inaugural collar (after that, he always wore a harness) and dashing down the street with a frantic parade of humans in his wake. He was eventually retrieved and brought into his new home. From then on, there was never an open door he didn’t try to rush, never a closed one he didn’t try to open by grabbing the knob in his mouth.

I make light of it now, but at the time it was terrifying. Here was this beautiful creature with silky hair, strong shoulders and big brown eyes, a canine we adored from the moment we saw him, and he seemed determined to leave the only loving family he ever had. This was not from ingratitude but from anxiety. The little guy was a bundle of nerves. Later in his life he cowered when thunder pealed. Sometimes he even barked at his own tail thumping.

Yesterday was the second December 16th that’s come and gone without Copper. Is life simpler without him? Yes it is. But it’s poorer, too.