As I write this story about one of the best beings I have ever had the privilege and honor to know, Alex is lying on the floor, sound asleep. He lays on his side, his legs stretched out. He is not comfortable, but it’s been a while since he’s been comfortable. Deep sleep brings relief.

It is mid-December, 2003. He turned fifteen on May 30. His hind-end has suffered from arthritis for about a year. His hearing began to go about the same time along with his close vision. He has not been able to lift his leg for the better part of a year. He startles easily and can be violent, even with us, if he is disturbed. He perceives cleaning the floor near him as a threat and will attack. If he falls, and cannot get himself up, he refuses our assistance with growls, snarls and bared teeth. We have had to keep him away from the small grandchildren.

For the past year we have had to lift him in and out of the truck and for the past six months, in and out of the trailer. Since Thanksgiving, about three weeks ago, he has begun to lose control of his bladder. He stands with his head buried in the water dish, licking constantly, but does not seem to swallow much water. If Barry hand feeds him softened kibble mixed with a bit of canned food, he will eat a little, but mostly he has no appetite. His hind-end will suddenly collapse underneath him and he will circle and circle and circle before he can lie down. It is too sad to watch.

He has taken to putting himself into corners and other tight places that he cannot get out of. Sometimes we find him staring at blank walls as though there is something there. Most of his days and nights are spent sleeping.

A year ago, when he began to exhibit some of his strange and violent behavior, I grieved for the gentle dog I had loved. I tried to convince myself that this aged beast was not my Alex and would almost succeed until I would watch him try to romp on the beach or enjoy a pain free moment of pure joy when we came home from being away for a little while and he’d skip around us, tail wagging furiously.

Knowing that the end of his days are approaching, we took him to the beach several times and on a small hike in October. A short walk is about all he can handle now. Next week, when we reach our winter place in Rio Hondo, we will take him to his veterinarian in Harlingen where he will probably be sent to heaven. There is a nice pet cemetery in Harlingen and we will probably put him there.

I am writing the story of his life as a tribute to him. If I can memorialize this special friend, share his memory with others, it will be my repayment for the love and joy he has brought into our lives. I doubt that my poor skill with words can match what he has given us, but I have nothing else to offer.

Chapter I

It was one of those long July fourth weekends. The year was 1988 and Barry and I were camping at Wading Pines Campground. Wading Pines, in Chatsworth, New Jersey, is where we met while attending a Parents Without Partners camping weekend in June of 1985. New years eve of the same year we were married. At least once each summer we would camp at Wading Pines, returning to what we jokingly called; the scene of the crime.

I was scheduled for some outpatient surgery after the camping trip so Barry was feeling very solicitous as we strolled through the campground one afternoon. Turning a corner, I thought I heard the excited yip-yip of puppies barking. Up the lane, a free-standing metal screen house had been erected on a seasonal site. A sign hung from it declaring: Poodle Puppies for Sale.

I knew how much Barry loved dogs. I also knew how much he wanted one since we married and he moved into my house with the huge back yard; but he wanted a big Boxer, like the ones he previously owned, and I was willing to accept something small that did not shed, cause allergic reactions, slobber or be noted for passing gas. As we neared the screen house it was my intention to just look at the puppies. Maybe the owner would let me hold one.

My wish fulfilled, the lady who owned the six puppies allowed me to pick up one little jet black fellow. I held him in the palm of my hand and we made eye contact. I brought him close to my chest and the little guy would have crept inside my body straight into my heart if he could have. There was an instant, cosmic, connection between us. Though I knew Barry would never accept a Miniature Poodle, I looked up at him and said: I have to have this dog. He quietly nodded and he asked the lady: How much?

Barry went back to the camper to get the check book and I held our new little guy. He was still unweaned and we would have to wait a few weeks before we could make him a part of our family. Floss Walder, who owned the mom, took the check but made us promise that we would send her a note every year and tell her how the puppy was doing. We agreed.

Camped next to was a young family with two rambunctious little boys. All weekend long we heard the mom calling Alex. We got to like the name and decided to name our new little boy, Alex. We told Floss and she began to call him by name immediately.

When we came to pick him up at Floss home in Bordentown, the puppy was already responding to his name. He was jet black, but Floss said he would turn silver like his mom, Gidget, after his first hair cut. She gave us some food and his papers to file with the AKC and I carried him into the car. He began to cry immediately. I switched the car radio to a classical music station and he stopped crying and settled down in my lap for a long nap all the way to South Brunswick. I knew then that we had a dog with a special sensitivity. He never did turn silver though advanced age turned his coat a gentle charcoal gray.

Alex took over our lives. He gave as much love as he absorbed. He owned the big back yard and considered it his duty to check the perimeter of the property twice each day. We swore he had a tiny surveyor compass buried under his fur. He chased squirrels, birds and deer from the property. He became the immediate darling of the neighborhood. He had his share of training accidents, ate a square foot of wallpaper from the bathroom wall, destroyed two electric blankets by pulling out the wires and chewed the heck out of my favorite bedspread. We forgave him. It was really our fault for going off to work and leaving him home with nothing but 10 to 15 doggie toys to keep him company.

Alex became our son. The children called him their brother. My mom called him her grand-dog and got special permission for him to visit her apartment years before the pet rules were relaxed. She made him a sweater in the high school colors and he proudly wore it when we picked up our son at marching band practice. He was a favorite with the band and everyone stopped to pet him as they came off the field.

Memorial Day weekend 1989 came just a week before Alexs first birthday. By then he was a fully grown, handsome specimen with long legs, a slender middle and a shiny, loosely curled coat. Bright and curious, Alex was one of those dogs who delighted in physical contact with his humans. Typical to the breed he was extremely protective of his people and their stuff. He considered it his duty to bark at toll booths, manned or automatic, gas station attendants, the mail man and anyone who walked past his property. Small as he was, we knew he would protect us with his life if he thought we were threatened.

That particular Friday we were heading to the lower Pocono Mountains for a weekend of camping. Our youngest, Cara, a tiny girl of 14, was riding in the back of the 20 foot Mini-Winnie motorhome. We were stuck in typical Jersey Friday traffic inching along state highway 31 when the car in front of us stopped short behind another driver making a left turn. We bumped the car ahead of us. No one in the car was injured, but Cara went flying from the rear of the motorhome to the front right into a pile of firewood. She was badly scraped and frightened. Barry had jumped out to check on the occupants of the car and I bent down to aid Cara. By the time the excitement had faded, Alex was gone. He had probably jumped from the motorhome window while we were occupied.

An ambulance came to take Cara to the hospital and I rode with her. Barry exchanged information with the driver of the car and met us at the hospital where Cara was pronounced bruised, but fine. We drove straight back to where the accident had happened to look for Alex.

Though most folks think every inch of New Jersey is populated, it is not true. Where the accident occurred there was a Burger King on one side of the road and a farmer planting his corn field on the other. We looked near the restaurant. We called his name. We asked people in the restaurant if they had seen a small black poodle with a red collar. No one had. It was getting dark and we did not know where else to search. Because we were closer to the campground than to home, we decided to go there for the night and resume our search the next day.

Morning, though it took forever, finally came and so did the torrential rains. It would be impossible to hunt for the dog in the constant downpour. We decided not to search that day.

On Sunday we began our search at the Burger King and the small cluster of homes behind it . No one had seen the dog. I did not know, and to this day cannot explain, why I told Barry to go up the road across the highway from the Burger King. There did not appear to be anything on that side of the road except farmland. He thought I was completely nuts, but having nowhere else to go, he followed my directions.

The road ended in a tee and I told him to turn left. There was a house set back about a hundred feet from the road. A woman was sitting on the porch. I said to Barry: ask that woman when she saw the dog. I don’t know how I knew it; but I knew she had seen him. Barry came back to the camper looking at me like I had two heads. The woman had seen the dog. She told Barry that if he turned just past her house, he would find a new housing development and she believed Alex had gone there. I have no idea how I knew she saw the dog or even how I knew there were homes back there.

We searched the development and actually spotted the pup, but he was on the other side of a stream with no crossing. Barry jumped out of the camper and ran through the stream toward the dog who was standing at the foot of a driveway about 50 yards uphill from the stream. As Barry neared, a car turned into the driveway and the frightened dog took off. I drove around to a bridge, but by the time I crossed, Alex had run further up the hill and off into the woods on the edge of the development.

We kept driving around the development and discovered that there was a tract of undeveloped land

next to it and then another, smaller development, under construction on the other side. The land between the two developments formed a steep, grassy slope and was not accessible. I had seen the dog run onto that slope. We checked the small development on the other side. There were two occupied homes, a few models and three or four homes under construction in the small development which was on a single U-shaped street. In the back of the U there was a gray house with black shutters that struck a chord with me. There is no way to explain it, I knew that the dog, if not currently there, would be found there eventually. No one was home.

We drove around for hours stopping to talk to the residents. We told them his name and that he liked bologna and cheese as a treats. They promised to watch out for him. We drove out of the development to a nearby supermarket where we purchased a tablet and left notes with the dog’s name and our phone number in every mailbox. We called our house and told our eldest daughter to meet us near the large development so we could all hunt together on Monday.

Gayle and her sister, Cara, started the search on Monday morning in Gayles car. Barry and I rode around in the camper. Gayle had a CB in her car and we had one in the camper so we were able to communicate. The girls kept vigil in the small development and we canvassed the large one. I kept sending them to the gray house with the black shutters to look for Alex, but he was not there. A man who lived in the other occupied house told Gayle he saw the dog earlier in the morning and tried to catch him, but the dog was too frightened.

I had the feeling Alex was somewhere where there were cows. Inquiries directed us toward an old farm that was across the road from the developments. There was a barn there, and though it smelled fresh, it and the farmhouse appeared to be deserted. We returned to searching the areas near the houses.

People came out of their homes in the large development when they saw us drive by in the camper. Many had seen Alex the previous evening and had tried to lure him with treats, calling him by name. Though he showed recognition of his name, the consensus was that he was just too scared to come to anybody. It was close to dark and we were exhausted. We went home.

I was between jobs at the time and stayed near the phone. Tuesday morning, the owner of the gray house with the black shutters called. She owned a large dog that she kept on the raised deck behind her house. Alex had come by when she was out feeding her dog. She tried to coax him, but he shied away and ran back into the woods. She said she was going to put food out for him and keep trying. (Wednesday, she called again to report that the pup had eaten the food and was coming closer to her when she called him by name, but she still could not grab him. )

The children at the high school knew that Alex was missing. Barrys teacher colleagues worried. All of my mothers neighbors and Gayles friends and classmates at community college worried. Everyone in the entire state of New Jersey and at least one New York City borough, it seemed, was praying for Alex’s return.

Wednesday morning I had made up my mind that I was going to make the hour and a half trip to look for my dog myself. I took his leash, some of his favorite toys and one of my sons dirty socks, which at the time were Alexs preferred playthings, and decided to call the lady at the gray house to tell her I was on my way up there. When she answered the phone she said: Mrs. Wilder, I have your puppy. Alex had finally allowed her to take him when she approached with food that morning.

I jumped in the car and tried to stay within the speed limit as I raced to get my puppy. It was his birthday. When I got to the development, the lady from the gray house was walking with her dog on a leash and Alex on a rope attached to his collar. I stopped the car and jumped out running towards them. Alex spotted me and strained so hard to get to me that he was only inches above the pavement. I sat in the middle of the street and held my dog in my arms. Both the dog and I were crying.

On the way home, I threaded his leash through the seatbelt of the back seat and he stood on the console with his little head pressed into my chest through the long ride home. He stank and I was certain that he had a few fleas and ticks, but I did not care.

I got him home and called Barrys school, my mother and the high school, who made the announcement over the PA system that Alex was safely back with his family. I called the neighbors, too. The groomer had no openings until the next day but we let him sleep with us that night anyway. When Barry and the kids got home, we celebrated Alex’s first birthday with his favorite Frosty Paws ice cream and new toys.

To say that Alex was bright was an understatement. When he saw me carrying laundry to the washing machine, he got his collection of socks in his mouth and brought them to me to wash them, too. When the entire family was sitting on the living room floor putting together the hundreds of Sunday papers we delivered each week, he would go and find his rubber newspaper toy and sit with us. You told him which toy to bring and he immediately went to fetch that specific toy.

He followed a series of commands: sit, give me your paw, give me your other paw, lay down, roll over. We would hold a treat and say sit. He would rapidly go through the entire routine without us saying another word and then take his treat. He could give you five, play patty-cake and dance in a circle on his hind legs. He would sit motionless when you gave him the stay command. You could leave the room for several minutes and he would not budge until you gave the come command and then race for his treat. He could stand on his hind legs, completely balanced, completely motionless except for his tongue which was occupied licking peanut butter from a spoon. The only time he was not obedient was when he was in the back yard. We would call him, but if he was not ready to come, he either pretended that he did not hear or he would lift his leg or squat to show you he was busy doing what he was supposed to be doing in the yard. Since he loved salty snacks that came in cellophane packages, we would stand by the back door and rattle a package of egg noodles. He would race in. There would not be a chip or pretzel waiting for him, and we were never certain if we were tricking him or he was indulging us by playing a game.

There was no fence on our property but he knew not to stray from the boundaries of his property.

I could be on the other side of the street talking to the neighbor and he would near the curb on his property, tail wagging, anxious to be a part of the conversation, but not daring to disobey by crossing the street. Two or three times, in the eight years we lived in the house, he did take off on an adventure and we believe that there was love in the air that lured him away. After we had him neutered at age 5, he never strayed again.

When Alex was young Barry and I became involved with day hiking. We would pack lunch and water for the three of us, including a dish for Alex to drink from, and stuff our pockets with cheap sandwich bags, the kind with the fold-over tops, to pack-out the poop. We’d put on our hiking boots, throw our day packs into the car and take off on a Saturday or Sunday for a hike. If we were alone on the trail, we’d let him off the leash. These were such happy times for him. Exploring under every rock, sniffing by every tree, cocking his head at every bird-call, he was in a constant state of excitement. Alex would bound up the trail, check it out, then race back to us to make sure we were following him. Whatever distance we covered, he doubled it. We nicknamed him Columbus because he was such an explorer.

In early 1990 we traded in the old Winnebago for a brand new pickup truck and camper. That summer we went on our first two week RV trip out to The Canadian Rockies in Alberta. Alex had been camping in Pennsylvania and had driven through Ohio when he accompanied us while driving our son back and forth to college near Toledo. He hiked and camped in New York and had gone on a week-long trip down to Virginia in the Winnie. By the end of the Canadian Rockies trip, he had been through several more US states and three Canadian provinces. The next summer we did a three-week trip to Vancouver, British Columbia and back to New Jersey. He added a bunch of other states to his list and one more province.

That trip was a delight for Alex. He was just as much interested in sightseeing as we were. The pickup truck had an extended cab and we had folded down the back seat where we kept his bed so he could be comfortable while traveling, but he preferred to sit on a cushion I had attached to the cover of the center console and look out of the front window. When he was not on his throne he was on my lap, with his behind shoved into my left armpit and his little head between my knees, sound asleep. He was comfortable, I was not.

His favorite sight was horses. He would stand on his hind legs with his front paws on the window and whine, his tail furiously wagging. Cows, on the other hand, had absolutely no effect on him. If I spotted the horses before he did, I would say: look at the horses and he was at the window in a second.

He had a wonderful trip. There were many new smells, new sights and new people to pet him. We had to remind him that the wood in Petrified Forest National Park was not meant to be peed upon. Alexs greatest experience on that trip was the day we visited the giant coastal redwood trees

in Northern California. We pulled off onto a turn-out and leashed him up for a walk through one the groves. He walked over to a giant specimen and looked up. He began to walk around the tree and looked up again. He walked back to where he had started, looked up at the towering tree once again and then walked over to the pickup truck, lifted his leg and peed on the tire. He was not going to mess with any tree that big!

During his many travels he discovered that beaches were wonderful places to run and chase birds.

He found that he enjoyed going for a swim in the ocean, a lake or river and that swimming was even more fun when his people least expected him to take a dip. Poodles were bred in Germany to be water retrievers and Alex still had the DNA. Although he’d been taught from puppyhood how to get himself out of the above-ground pool by swimming to and climbing the ladder, he did not care to swim there.

Alex loved traveling in the pickup and sleeping with us in the camper. If, on a summer evening, he saw one of us loading anything into the camper, he would drive us crazy whining and carrying on wanting to be on the road already. Patience was never one of his virtues.

By the summer of 1995, there were few US states or Canadian provinces he had not visited. He came with us that summer when we ordered the new fifth wheel trailer at the factory in Kansas. He did not know that the trailer would become his new home in less than a year.

When Alex was about four years old, he was interviewed by a psychic. One of Barrys fellow teachers at the middle school was a friend of Lydia Hiby, a famous pet psychic from California. Lydia grew up on Staten Island and had returned to care for her ailing mother. Barrys colleague suggested we bring our wonderful dog to visit Lydia. Though he scoffed at the very idea of a pet psychic, Barry agreed to take Alex for a half-hour () interview. He figured that the would pay for a lot of conversation value after the visit.

We arrived at the house and Lydia took us into the back yard. Alex ran around smelling everything and investigating each crevice and pebble. Lydia explained that she conversed with Alex by putting pictures in her mind and he would send her back a picture in response. I had no problem believing her. Remember, I was the one who found the lost dog by an unknown instinct. The first thing he told Lydia was that he liked whipped cream. We were puzzled until we realized that I was on a Jello making kick and was serving it with Cool Whip. Alex hated the Jello because it was not there when he went to eat it, but he adored the Cool Whip.

Lydia told us Alex was extremely bright and that if he could type, he would write volumes. She asked us what we wanted to talk to Alex about. I wanted to know how he managed when he was lost that week before his first birthday. His first response was oh, I wandered away from home and forgot where I was, but then I found my way. That was not what I wanted to hear. I told Lydia to ask him about the long time he was lost when he was a puppy.

Alex, who all this time had been wandering around the yard came up to Lydia and put his head into her lap. He began to cry. She stroked his head and said thats alright, Alex, its good to remember it. Then he told her of how frightened he’d been. He told her about seeing us that first day but being too scared to come to us. He relayed how he was cold and hungry and very sad.

I asked if he could tell me about the cows. (When he was lost, I had this feeling that there had been cows) Alex told her that he had gone into an empty place to get out of the rain and had fallen asleep. When he awoke there were cows there, so he left. I am sure it was the barn we had seen when we were looking for him.

Alex told Lydia about how much he loved all the new places. She did not understand what he was saying so she asked us what he meant. We explained that we traveled with him in a camper.

By this time we were well past the half-hour, but Lydia told us not to worry, she was having such a good time with Alex that she would only charge for the half-hour. Lydia told us that Alex thought of himself as a therapy dog. He felt that it was his obligation to keep his people from being sad. He told her about the people who lived with him. He told her about the big girl who had taken her things and hardly came any more. Our eldest had moved to her own apartment. He told her about the boy who was away a lot and when he came home he was happy to see him and then sad when he want away again. Our son had gone away to college.

He told her about the cat, describing it as beige and always sitting on a window sill. He said the cat did nothing, but because it was there in his house, he felt responsible for it, too. It was then that we understood why the first thing Alex would do after a trip away from home was to go to the room where the cat was. He was fulfilling his obligation to check on her. Then Alex told Lydia about the little girl. He said that she was sad and he got on her bed with her. She hugged him and talked to him and then she felt better. We asked how many times that this had happened and he told us, twice.

When we got home, we asked Cara whether she was having any problems at school. She told us that she had been depressed about something that had happened and had hugged Alex and told him her problems. It made her feel better. We asked her how many times she had done this and she replied; twice.

Even if we could have dismissed everything else that Lydia told us Alex said, there was no way she could have known about Cara and the two therapy sessions she had with Alex. We did not even know about them until afterward. That made Barry a believer.

We are still getting our worth telling the story of the day Alex was interviewed by the famous pet psychic.

Chapter V

1996 was a year filled with changes. Barry, Alex and I took our first, shakedown, trip with the new fifth wheel and truck that would later be our home. We were gone the entire month of March and added a few more states to Alexs ever-growing list.

We came home in April and listed the house for sale hoping it would sell quickly so we could close on or just after Barrys 55^th birthday. At that time you had to be over 55 to get the capital gain exclusion on a primary residence. It took two months, just about to the day, to sell and we decided to get on the road in mid-July leaving the house empty and the lawyer with the papers to sign for us and the address of our bank account to deposit the check into.

We held a big yard sale with one of us outside selling the garage stuff and the other inside peddling the furniture. By the end of June we had just the kitchen set, which my friend Myrna was going to buy and our bedroom set and refrigerator which had already been sold and were to be picked up on July 15. The last weekend in June, I spent with our youngest, Cara, transferring her things from our house to her dads basement. Cara still had one year to go before graduating college. She had been renting a place near her college while she took a summer course and worked locally. She would use her dads house as home after we went on the road. She complained that she was not leaving home; home was leaving her.

She left to go back to her place near the college on Monday morning. On Friday, July 5^th, she was killed in an auto accident near her apartment. The funeral was on Sunday, July 7^th and the neighbors were kind enough to supply us with tables and chairs as the house was empty. We called the person who was to take the bedroom and refrigerator and asked for an additional week. She kindly granted it even though it threw off her plans to move to South Carolina. We were grateful.

During the entire week of the mourning period our house was crowded with people who came to pay their respects. Alex sat by the front door watching everyone come in. He moved only to eat drink and to go out to relieve himself. We all believed he was waiting for Cara to come home. In his mind, if the rest of the family was there, she should be there, too. Occasionally, he would wander over to Barry, one of the children or me and put his head against our leg or his head into our laps, trying to give us comfort. Then he would go back to his vigil by the door. He knew that we were sad, but I am not sure he ever knew why.

We finally got on the road on July 22. We came back to the house one more time to finish taking down the trash. He did not show any special excitement. We think he knew that he had moved. If he ever missed his house in New Jersey, he never let us know. Lydia Hiby told us that dogs have no concept of time. Alex probably thought he was on another vacation all those years on the road.

Some things changed. If deer came up to our campsite, he was not at all disturbed. Birds, rabbits, cats are all welcome. It’s not his yard. I find it amazing that he would know the difference between a temporary yard and the permanent one that came with our house in New Jersey. He never barked when any person or creature came near the trailer, but if anyone got too close to his truck, he would bark like crazy.

In 1997 we got Alex a little sister. Kellie, a Miniature Poodle who was the runt of her litter and about as tall as a Toy, gave him every opportunity to assert his dominance. The first time she saw him, she rolled onto her back with her legs in the air in the classic subservient pose of the pack. He would not even look at her. In fact, for the first ten weeks of her life with us, he refused to look at her. He must have thought that if he did not see her, she really was not there. My son had exhibited the exact same behavior, when at age two, I presented him with a little sister.

Alex went so far as to jump between pieces of furniture to avoid passing the puppy on the floor. When the puppy was able to jump on the sofa or the chairs, he removed himself to the bed. When, finally, she was able to jump on the bed, he decided that she was not going to go away and acknowledged her existence.

He indulged her with games of tug-o-war and frequently allowed her to win. He shared all of his toys and all of his food and water. When he lay at rest on the floor or in the truck, he permitted her to climb on his back and sleep. Whenever she would greet new people or animal friends, he was always nearby ready to protect her if needed. He never minded when she shoved him out of the way in order to be petted by a stranger. Unless you got near his truck, Alex was a laid-back fellow.

On December 22, we took Alex to the veterinarian. He checked out the dog and did not feel hopeful. We requested that he take a blood test. Maybe there was a magic pill that would make him better. We called the next afternoon for the results and were told that the dog had diabetes. The vet prescribed insulin injections and a prescription diet. Afer the first injection, it was like we had a new dog. We had to test his urine with sticks to monitor his blood glucose levels and it took a few days to get the dosage of insulin right.

On January 8 Barry was not able to inject him. Alex became an attack dog when Barry came near him with the needle. Later that day he began to spill sugar in his urine. That night he slept in bed with us. When he got up in the morning, he was in attack-dog mode when Barry tried to help him get off the bed. We tried to tie his muzzle in a towel to keep him from biting so Barry could inject him, but he would not have it. Sadly we watched as he, once again, began to bury his face in the water dish. We were not going to watch him get sick again. By refusing the insulin, he had made his wishes clear. He was tired. He was ill and it was time for us to let go.

I called the vet. Barry put a cardboard box in the truck and took Kellie with us. He knew it was the end.

The vet confirmed our assumption that Alex had made his own decision. We each held him in our arms and said good-bye. We put little Kellie next to him so she could say good-bye, too. When the doctor went to inject him with the tranquilizer, it was difficult for him to find the vein. Alexs blood pressure was already very low. It took even longer to inject the euthanasia drug. The vet said he probably had pancreatic cancer. We held him while his spirit left.

The vet put him in a cardboard box and we drove to a local pet cemetery. They do not open the graves until the evening and you cannot hold services, so we took the box under a tree and we said the traditional Jewish funeral service: The El Molai Rachamim, a prayer for the repose of his soul and the Mourners Kaddish. I said a small eulogy, composed on the spot, but directly from my heart. It went something like this We say good-bye to Alex, our friend and fellow traveler. Nobody could have asked for a better dog. We thank him for the 15 ½ years of joy and laughter and love he brought into our lives. We will always have the memories of his love, affection and companionship and as long as we have those memories, he will be with us.

We both cried a lot today. We cried for ourselves because we shall miss him terribly, but we know that he is in a beautiful place now; a place with no pain where he can rum and jump and play and be petted by Cara and my parents who are happy to be reunited with everyone’s favorite Poodle.

Alex of America, the dog who traveled more extensively than most humans, has gone to his eternal rest. We are thankful to have known and loved him.

Note: Even though I tried to publish this in HTML, apostrophes appeared as nonsense and made the text almost unreadable. There are some missing and some stilted language. I am sorry.

Janet Wilder