Over the coming months the conversation repeated itself in different forms, and I knew I was weakening. (In fact, I knew we would be getting a dog.) Just after the holiday season and start of 1995, she came to me to say that her father had become aware of a golden retriever who needed a home. The dog, a one-year-old purebred male, was owned by a medical student at Ohio State who did not have enough time to care for him. Might we want him? How could we resist; after all, he was free. In March of that year, that free dog, that cost about $350 to fly here and another $150 for shots, arrived on a plane from Columbus, Ohio. His name was Brooklyn, and he actually had the same birthday as our daughter.

When Brooklyn arrived, he was so docile and pleasant, I was sure he had been drugged for the flight. I was wrong. In short order it became clear that this beautiful puppy had an unusually calm and pleasant demeanor. He became an integral member of the family right away. And, as I anticipated, I became the one who walked him.

Although I knew that I developed a quick affection for him, the intensity of it became clear the following November. Upon returning at about two a.m. from the wedding of two of my former students that I attended alone in New York, Brooklyn met me at the door and wanted to walk. As I happily put his leash on I thought to myself: “If I were a college student who saw a man my age walking a dog at this hour I would think, ‘Gosh, don’t you have anything better to do with your life?’ ”

Sure enough, as I walked him I came across a number of college students who were in different states of disequilibrium. Each and every one of them stopped to pet Brooklyn and commented about his beauty. As they did so, a number of them looked right at me and I knew what they were thinking. The truth is: I really didn’t have anything better to do.

The following March, when my father passed away, Brooklyn seemed to sense my sadness and was there for me in a way that no person could be. He went on especially long walks with me and always cuddled up with me and licked me as if to say, “Don’t worry, Steve, things will be okay.” He played a similar role for my wife when her father died five years ago. In fact, he was there for each and every one of us, through sickness and health, through disappointment and celebration. And through it all, he was always affectionate, caring, and loving. He was, in some sense, the glue that held us together.

Naturally, over the years we developed our own activities and routines with him. For the kids, Brooklyn was there to play in the yard and house; he saw them grow from toddlers to teenagers. For my wife and me, he always ended the night in our room. Often he jumped up on the bed to play before spending the night next to our bed. He was there for all of us no matter what we were doing. He supported us without passing any judgment about anything we said or did. His love for us and ours for him was truly unconditional and hard to explain.

As for walking him, I did it religiously and happily, usually twice a day. In the morning, I would pick up our paper and read it as he led me through the neighborhood. We often ran into the same people, all of whom found Brooklyn to be friendly and calm. Many of them joked with me: “Who is walking whom?”

At night I would walk him into Bryn Mawr and stop at the A-Plus store on the corner of Morris and Lancaster. I would tie him up outside and go in to get him a Tastykake; he particularly liked the Koffeekake Junior. (We had tried different donuts and other baked goods and even threw in an occasional hotdog or piece of pizza, but he seemed, or at least I thought he seemed, to like the Koffeekake Junior best.) He loved this walk, and the employees at A-Plus always enjoyed seeing him.

When my wife first became aware of the practice, she became concerned that it was not good for him and that he might gain too much weight. (Of course, she was also concerned about my predisposition to feed him scraps from the table.) While I knew she was right, I could not completely break the habit. We began to do it only on weekends (except when I could not hold to it). Eventually I agreed to stop walking him there, but the Tastykakes did not stop. Instead, I would take him on errands with me in the car, and when I was through with everything else we would stop at the A-Plus. Knowing what to anticipate, he always ran to the car to come with me.  He loved the cake, and I loved the moment. All three of our kids became part of the experience, and even my wife became a willing participant.

When we went to the beach, he loved to play in the water. Since there were rules about the hours when pets could be there, we would take him on before 8:00 in the morning or after dusk. He had a fabulous time, and our kids loved it even more.

Over the past couple of years, Brooklyn developed arthritis and slowed tremendously. This cut down on the length of our walks and his willingness and ability to play freely and easily. Through it all, he remained quiet, calm and loving. He continued to provide us with inspiration, solace, and support.

A few months ago we noticed that even though I had not stopped giving him coffee cake (or feeding him from the table), he was beginning to lose some weight and was less energetic. Although we hoped otherwise, we knew in our hearts that it was more than the arthritis. Sure enough, it turns out that he developed cancer. Originally, we thought it was a more treatable type and that he might still have a significant amount of time with a good quality of life. Unfortunately, we were wrong. His blood counts dropped precipitously and his days were numbered. Not wanting him to suffer, we struggled to decide just when to put him down. While we knew that he was not long for the world, the reality that he would soon be gone was very difficult for all of us to handle. My wife, our three kids, and I have shared laughs and cries. We took countless pictures of him, and I was ordered, even by Sunny, to feed him as many Tastykakes (and other food) as possible.

As I reflect on his time with us and the gifts he gave us, I realize that I walked him an average of one to two times a day for ten years and that each of these walks ranged from 15 minutes to an hour. In total, I walked him well over 5,000 times, spent at least 2,500 hours alone with him, and traveled more than 5,000 miles on those walks. I’m not sure that I have spent as much quality personal time with anyone, including my wife and kids. (It is no wonder that as I write this story the tears are streaming down my face.) It was a wonderful time; time that taught me patience, understanding, and love; time that even taught me to have an attitude adjustment.

As we prepared to put him down, we rationalized in our minds that he was ready to go, that he believed we could move on to the next stage in our life reinforced by the ten years of his strength, love, and support. As our youngest son said to my wife, “I won’t know what to do without him. Whenever I came home from school he was there at the door. He was always there for me.” In fact, Brooklyn was always there for all of us. He and the love we feel for him have us bound to him in a way that we can neither explain nor understand. Needless to say, we knew that when Brooklyn was gone we would miss him; he was, after all, a best friend to each and every one of us. He never complained even as his health deteriorated and the pain grew. In turn, he taught the lessons of life and made us better people. In addition, he taught us the value of grace and dignity even in difficulty. As the vet said, “Brooklyn is one of the few that will continue to wag his tail until the very end.”

The vet was right. When my wife and I took him over to the vet for the final time, he was wagging his tail. At the same time, he was as serene and docile as he had ever been. My wife and I cried openly as  we hugged him and each other. The doctor reinforced for us that  it was time to put Brooklyn down. As she administered the shot, our tears stopped and we became relaxed and calm. It was as though Brooklyn whispered to us: “It is ok. I will be fine.”

Upon leaving the vet’s office we went to the A-Plus store and bought six Tastykakes. When we got home, our three kids, a family friend, and the two of us each enjoyed a Tastykake in Brooklyn’s memory.

It is couple of months later, and we think of Brooklyn all of the time. We miss him immensely, and we know how lucky we were to have him. Although we realize that Brooklyn is not coming back, we are optimistic that he continues to wag his tail wherever he is. We only hope that Tastykakes are available for him.