Ten years ago today we threw caution to the winds and bought a puppy. He was a whirling dervish of an animal, full of life, completely unhinged.  One of his first antics was to jump over the back of the couch and land on my mother’s lap when she was visiting for Christmas. Mom, who was a little shy of dogs, was holding a glass of red wine at the time.

Copper was Claire’s Christmas present in 2006. Claire had been dreaming of dogs and pestering us for one for years — but she would be off to college in two-and-a-half years.

Yes, I know. What were we thinking? Here we were, almost in the clear — and then … not.

The child gate went up at the bottom of the stairs. The doors to bathrooms were kept closed so he couldn’t rifle through the trash. Shoes, socks and anything else chewable had to be stowed away.

Of course, you know how this story ends. It’s the oldest cliche in the books: Dog arrives, steals hearts, never lets them go.

And that’s exactly what happened — so much so that no one really wants to talk about his birthday or how many years we’ve had him because, well, we can’t imagine life without him now.