January 1st

I didn't even make it up to see the Texas New Year come in, much less the Georgia one--but now that I'm awake, I know it is officially 2016.  Mike has announced that our adventure is about to begin, so I'm about ready to stretch and get up.

Twice during the night, Mo Jo asked Mike to take him to the door to check on Copper.  (Mo Jo always sleeps beside Mike's bed; Copper sleeps on the landing outside the door."  The first words I heard in 2016 was Mike saying, "That's what I am, a door man to a dog!" But he likes his job of door man, sounds like.  He's loves these dogs.

Copper, poor guy,  has arthritis and lacks his usual energy.  Yesterday, he was so stiff he could barely walk, and he looked at Mike and me as if he were worried. He didn't even bark at the paper man, as he always does at five.  Usually, he drags the old robe of Mike's to the driveway so he can sleep between jobs--barking at the paper man and any other trespassers who might drive by Brown Mule Farm.

Part 2

I wrote those paragraphs before light.

Mike was making coffee and still couldn't get Mo Jo to go out with Copper.  When Mike went out in the light, he came back inside crying.  Copper had died during the night.

It's been a sad morning, burying Copper.  I've never seen another dog grieving like Mo Jo is.  He just sits on the grass, not moving, looking at the last place he saw Copper.

We talked about canceling our trip, but Mike already has reservations.  "We're going to go," he said, "And dedicate this trip to Copper.  When someone you love dies, it makes you want to treasure every moment with the living."

Standing at Copper's grave, Rocky--who had howled like a child when he heard the news--asked Mike, "Aren't you going to say some words?"

I said, "Rocky, you can say some words."

Rocky is mentally challenged, but he comes every morning to visit with Mike and the dogs.  He pointed to the sky.  "Copper in heaven for dogs.  Copper was a good dog.  Copper was smart."