My dog Duke died this week.

Duke -- a nobleman. He sure fit his name.

Like most black Labs, his coat was as black as midnight. Duke's face had that just-dipped-in-flour look, not uncommon to a 14-year-old dog.

I can still see him on the beach in Homer, trying to bite the waves as if each was one of his precious tennis balls. Duke loved tennis balls. In fact, he loved them so much that even if he had three in his mouth, he would go for a fourth.

Now my Duke is gone. His memory and ashes are all I have. His ashes will be scattered on the beach he loved so much. Duke has gone to Heaven, but who knows? Maybe now he can fit that fourth tennis ball in his mouth.