When our 11-year-old asked for a dog we agreed to “think about it” and went to the Animal Refuge League in Westbrook “just to look. ” Those of you who have done the same thing know full well that we went home that day with a puppy. In fact, we also went home that day with a tiny, shivering kitten, so that the dog and cat could “keep each other company.” For the most part, it worked.

The dog was a 4- or 5-month-old Shepherd mix, black and tan, very handsome. The shelter attendant told us they had given him the name “Mark.” Completely misinterpreting the Maine accent, we Hoosiers agreed that it was a good name and we’d keep it, promptly signing him up in the adoption papers as “Mack.” The cat, though named Madeline, was never addressed as anything but “The Cat” from then on.

At first, Mack was undisciplined and rambunctious. He loved to take The Cat’s head in his mouth with a “just kidding” look on his face. When temptation overcame him and he ate The Cat’s food, I would say, “Who ate the cat food?” His lip would tremble, he’d hang his head and slink into another room. And then do it again the next day.

He and I would walk in the woods behind our house every day. All he needed for a cue was to hear the thump of me putting on “the shoes,” the ones I wore in the woods. I felt protected by his bravery. Until the day a snake crossed our path and I shrieked. He responded at a dead run – toward home. By the time I caught up with him, he was sitting on the porch. And I’ll never forget that look of astonished disbelief on his face when he attempted to run through a narrow opening between two trees with a long branch held horizontally between his teeth.

For the better part of his life with us, he was a happy, obedient dog. He grinned when it was time for his evening walk. He loved cavorting with the other dogs on the street. He could sniff out and retrieve a tennis ball in 5 feet of snow. He loved going to the groomer, who sent him home smelling like a French poodle. His days, and ours, were complete.

Eventually though, Mack went deaf. His legs couldn’t support him. He couldn’t eat. But every day he still tried to be the good sport he’d always been.

When the time came, his incredibly caring and wonderful “primary care” staffers at Cape Veterinary Clinic brought us discreetly into a quiet room. They held our hands as we held his paws, and gently helped Mack find the comfort and peace he deserved after a lifetime of being our family’s best friend.

Tonight he is flying through the woods, moon lighting his path, stars guiding his effortless stride, grinning; the cool autumn air filling his lungs and carrying him on.

— Special to the Telegram