"Man's best friend"

The goodbye stories I've shared so far have all involved people. But pets are family members, too, and saying farewell to a treasured cat, dog, or other animal can be heartbreaking and heartwarming, too.

This summer, we visited a colleague of mine in northern Maine. Alex had just lost his cherished dog, an Italian Spinone named Monty, after 14 years of companionship, and he kept us grinning with tales about Monty's passion for cake and lasagna, among other endearing qualities.

Alex and his family buried the shaggy white-and-brown dog under a tree between the barn and garage, "in the spot where he used to sit and watch me," Alex wrote. The mound is marked with a marble tablet that Alex carved to read, "MONTY, 1993-2008. good boy, good boy"

To help with his grief, Alex composed a tender tribute that I'm including here -- with our cat Puck lying by the keyboard. As Alex noted about Monty, "We should all live and die so well."

Nearly 15, Monty Dies Peacefully

Monty died peacefully the afternoon of August 11, 2008, following several months of declining health. At the end, he was deaf and blind and could no longer get up by himself, nor take more than a few steps unassisted. His passing was soft, and full of love and sadness.

Born Nov. 27, 1993 in West Sussex, England, the son of the champion Italian Spinone Fiume del Gaesten (and before that a long lineage of English champions), Monty came to New England at 14 months. All his life he retained the slightly superior attitude of a servant who was higher born than his master. Having lost his English family to the arrival of a new baby, he stayed as aloof and resentful as a teenager for a couple of years before conceding.

Monty loved girls and women and missed them when they were gone. He always checked my door first when I drove in, and then went around to the passenger door to see if someone more interesting would emerge.

Typical of his breed, he had little aggression, and simply waited patiently for people to approach him, as they usually did. He was good with children this way, for he would play with them up to a certain point, and then walk away. He liked children, but was wary of them. He established the rules with an urbane sophistication.

Monty had faults, but they seem minor now. He was a terrible food thief, and could snatch a sandwich without disturbing the plate. Any child's snack was considered fair game. On his hind legs he could grab a cake from the very back of the kitchen counter. He was quick, stealthy and entirely without shame or remorse. Stealing food was a sport for Monty. He seemed to have a kind of pride about it, and could listen to my scoldings with the look of a teenager's "whatever."

He also loved to get up on sofas and beds no matter how much he was warned about it. He had a living room armchair that he claimed as his own, and could somehow fit his 105-pound frame into the seat, rest his chin on the arm, and sleep peacefully for hours.

He is buried in a small field between the barn and the garage, in the spot where he used to sit and watch me. At the burial my nieces and grandchildren spread flowers and ripe blackberries on his body, wrapped in a blue blanket. He was surrounded, at the end, by those who loved him and who will remember him as the regal, sweet and playful creature he was.

There lives a generation of my family who cannot remember the world before Monty.

His affability and sense of fun made him a marvelous companion, and like the good dogs of this world, could make life, even in its dark hours, seem normal and fair.