Michael and Nala

On January 23, 2001, eight months before the tragedy of 9/11, we had a disaster in our own community. That morning, my friend and neighbor Michael left for Manhattan to work at his film editing machine. That machine and his incredible talent had won him an Emmy award.

Unfortunately, the ever present cigarette in one hand, and the constant cup of coffee in the other, in conjunction with the stress of a high pressure, sedentary job, were too much for his 48 year old heart. He never came home.

He had been a live action amalgamation of the cartoon, "Tennessee Tuxedo and his Tales." With the hair and the brains of Phineas J. Whoopee, a mustache that looked like Chumley's tusks, and the wit of Tennessee, Michael was unique.

He left behind a wife and five children, the oldest a freshman in college, the youngest a fourth grader, and finally, a dog, Nala.

Though Nala had been a Christmas gift for the kids in 1995, it was Michael who could be seen walking her late at night, cigarette and cup of coffee in one hand, leash in the other. Occasionally, they would stop by the house at night for "a viewing." His work schedule was so crazy, a "view" was all you could hope for. He would come in, and despite my mild protest about Nala, she would come in with him. I'm a pet person, but there was something about Nala that I didn't like. Perhaps she was too big, I'm a small dog person - I just don't know. Michael's answer to any complaint was simple: "Love me... Love my Dog."

For the first few weeks after he died, Nala would lie by the front door whimpering, crying for him to come home. Then she took up her position as a watchdog for Michael's widow, very protective, always alert. The two of them mourning, side by side.

Last Sunday, with a tumor the size of a grapefruit and her quality of life slipping away daily, Nala was put to sleep. She was thirteen years old.

Now - I think about Michael all the time- sharing stories with friends and family- but when Nala died, a flood of memories came back. These memories seemed to be universal on our block. As if Nala was a link to Michael and we were losing him all over again. There were lots of tears on Sunday, many for Nala, but strangely many more for Michael.

Since Sunday and Nala's passing I have started to look at our dog Sidney differently, wondering if he is a link to us. I ask myself "What does he know? What does he think?"

Michael would have made fun of this internal conversation of mine. But then again, he's the one who said "Love me... Love my Dog."

Sidney Augustus Torre