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Author Eugene O'Neill, when writing his Dalmatian's last will and testament, wrote, "Dogs ... do not ruin their sleep worrying about how to keep the objects they have, and to obtain the objects they have not. There is nothing of value they have to bequeath except their love and their faith."

For 12 years, our chocolate lab, Copper, freely gave her love and showed faithfulness, especially to the master of our house.

Copper crossed the rainbow bridge over the weekend, entering doggy heaven, where we are certain she's chasing rabbits or frolicking in a lake or at the very least, lapping up milk in the dairy barn.

We're not sure how she found us.

We'd been married a couple months and just returned from a weekend trip to Minnesota when this adorable puppy and bundle of energy showed up in our driveway. The road north of our farm house is a minimum maintenance trail. An 80-acre grassland sits to the west, with no road or fenceline to follow.

That meant someone passed the dairy, as well as Scott's sibling's house to deliver her at our place situated on the curve.

Melanie saw her first and brought her to the house, where we oohed and ahhed and decided we'd keep her. Scott visited neighboring farms to see if anyone was missing a dog, but nobody owned a lab of the chocolate variety. It was too late anyway; Melanie named her Copper and the kids devised a makeshift doggy bed.

Every morning, when Scott left to feed cattle, Copper jumped in the vehicle and spent the day at the farm. He helped her in the tractor until she was big enough to climb in on her own.

Copper became Scott's sidekick. Wherever he would go, she would follow.

While we lived in the country, she made numerous trips each day between the dairy, our place and Jody's and Jason's house, visiting our grandkids or nieces and nephews or following Scott in the tractor or chasing wildlife.

During harvest, she'd head to the field with Scott. Sometimes she would ride in the combine, but usually, she'd trot alongside, zeroing in on rabbits or mice that would run out as the big red machine made swaths in the field.

Copper loved fishing and exploring at Goose Lake. She was a good sport when the grandkids would sit on her back and hug her neck, hoping for a horse ride.

My favorite memory of her will always be one rainy evening at the farm. I walked in the garage and, like a scene out of Marley and Me, she was standing on two legs and she and Scott were dancing in the rain.

The other memory I keep replaying is the two of them rounding the corner in Scott's Geo Metro. The windshield was cracked, so Scott was leaning out the driver's window to steer the course and Copper, sitting in the passenger seat, leaned out that window, breeze gently blowing against her coat, ears perked.

Once we moved to Clearwater, she still made the daily trip to the farm until about a year ago, when she could no longer climb in the pickup.

She had free range at the farm, a permanent fixture who greeted you every time you arrived or walked out of the house. In the last few years, when it was time for us to return home, she'd bat those puppy dog eyes, nuzzle against Scott's side and walk into the shop for the night.

In her short life - although in human years, she was close to 80 years old - Copper gave us so much love and laughter and soothed away any bad moods. Maybe she found us all those years ago because she knew we needed her.

We'll miss you, girl.