Milo was about four years old when he came to live with us on October 17, 2009. He was a HUGE OES, topping the scales at 95 pounds. He was the first dog whose back I could pet without stooping. His spirit was as large as his body. Ed (my husband) said if we hadn't kept the name he came with, we could have called him Longfellow!

Milo's best learned behavior was responding to the sound of the opening of the liquor cabinet. No, he didn't drink, but loved ice cubes that accompany the drink. If you clink cubes in any glass, he showed up at your knee, waiting for a frozen handout. Every morning when the clock struck 6 a.m. Milo would head for the kitchen. Ed would follow and fix breakfast with toast and fruit while Milo crowded up to the counter waiting for his pat of butter or piece of banana.

Ed and I were having problems leaving the house together. Milo wanted to go with us, because he came with a severe separation anxiety. It was a major problem, because, once out, he'd bolt for the street, hoping to find a vehicle to take him for a ride. Our street is not a busy one, but busy enough that we didn't want him charging around the street. The trainer suggested selecting a spot in the dining room for him to lie down and stay while we made it out the front door. Milo chose the curved step at the end of the stairs. If his butt didn't quite land on the step, he backed up until he thought he found it. If he misjudged, he'd keep backing up until his butt met the step.

He and Ed would go for a daily, early AM, half-hour, walk in the cemetery near our house. Milo got great joy in careening through the cemetery at high speed, ears a-flapping. He'd check in with Ed and take off again. I am sure the squirrels are delighted that they have nothing to fear in the cemetery, but we don't share their opinion. Milo was a seven-year old big sweetie and we miss him greatly.

Janet Seapker