This is a very brief love story: A story of love for others, and how that love translates into riches. We can be rich in many ways, but the kind of riches I mean is money.

Last year, October to be precise, our dog and companion of 14 years, Pepito, suffered a stroke that paralyzed his right hind leg.

Despite his paralysis, Pepito, the old tough boy, refused, to be picked up and cuddled, dragging himself to his bowl and to his regular spot by the front door. Pepito was your regular size Shih Tzu, stubborn to no end, and with an independent streak that was more human than canine. "C'mhere" to Pepito meant "Go the other way." At times I'd think he was pigheaded rather than stubborn.

Hard as I often tried, I could never teach him a manly thing. After I retired from business, where I was a successful investment banker, I became a college adjunct professor of Accounting and Business. I've been teaching unruly college kids the rudiments of accounting, macro, and micro-economics.

For years I've felt that Pepito had a high IQ, or above average to say the least. At times I've felt that perhaps he could outthink some of my own students. Yet, though I managed to teach him many tricks, the noble beast refused to learn to raise his leg and pee like a he-dog.

Oh, well, at least I convinced him not to growl, bark, sniff at our guests' crotches, and other common tricks.

Being apartment dwellers, in the mornings we let Pepito pee in his washable pads, but in the evenings I'd take him for a long walk. We are fortunate to live in a gorgeous penthouse on Park Avenue (a lovely avenue in New York City-Manhattan) where one can find trees in the median. For many a day--or late afternoon or evening may be more accurate--I tried to teach Pepito to pee like a he-dog.

Repeatedly I'd lift my leg and placed it against a tree at the stop light intersection, north of our building, hoping that Pepito would eventually catch on and imitate me.

To be an Wall Street banker you must have thick skin, and I am proud to say, I don't embarrass that easily. So, I would turn a deaf ear to the taunts, jeers, indignities, and insults from cab drivers and other motorists held by the stop light, as they saw me in that ridiculous position, trying to teach the pooch how to act like a man.

Pepito never got it and eventually I gave up. "No sense in changing Pepito's basic instinct--a contrarian he is!" I thought. Yet, I knew he had absorbed and internalized what I was trying to teach him, not because I'm smart but because Pepito wasn't a good poker player--everytime he learned something he'd stick his tongue out and hold it out for about 5 seconds.

Dr. Gregorian --head of Pepito's regular Veterinary clinic-- examined my beloved pooch carefully, and as he shined a light into the old boy's pupils, he said in a cold voice, "Pepito is in pain and suffering. It's best for him to be put to sleep."

Stunned by what Dr. Gregorian was saying, I could hardly contain myself, fighting an inner wave of violence building within me. I remember thinking, "You insensitive, incompetent nitwit, for fourteen years we've paid and fattened your wallet and all you got to say is 'put him to sleep'?"

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