But instead, I only mumbled, "Isn't there something you can do-surgery? I'll pay for it!"

Gregorian only shook his head meaning "No." Then he said, "I'll leave you both," --that is me and my wife Mary Patricia-- "to talk for a moment, and grieve. It's time for Pepito to go to dog heaven."

As soon as Gregorian was out the door, Mary Patricia hugged me and burst into tears. I held her close to sooth her pain, my heart thumping, and my throat voiceless.

Only twice in my life have I ever shed a tear: The first time was during the TET offensive in Vietnam in 1968, when as a young infantry lieutenant I held one of my men --who had been mortally wounded-- in my arms as he asked me to call his mom in Missouri and tell her he loved her. Oblivious to the small arms fire, rocket-propelled grenades, and madness around me, and with my man's body still warm in my arms, I well remember the acrid smell of gun powder and the bitter tears draining into my mouth.

The second time was when the market crashed in 1987 and --following a contrarian gut impulse that I had learned from Pepito-- I shorted (selling short is betting on the losing horse) Cisco and other Dot.Com stocks and made a substantial amount of money--a maneuver that allowed me to buy this penthouse on Park Avenue. When I took my profits out, I couldn't fight back the sweet tears that coursed down my cheeks.

Mary Patricia and Pepito are the love of my life, and for many years I had chased the elusive buck -wanting to make money online or otherwise-- just like any ambitious person, but one thing changed my fortune. Wanting to make money happens quickly when you think of those about you--not yourself. Before I realized this fact, my success was more spiritual than monetary.

But let me go on. Dr. Gregorian returned with an assistant and both of them got busy to set the cold aluminum-steel table where Pepito was to be euthanized.

Fearful that I was going to break down and cry a primal cry that I felt roaming up my spine, I asked Gregorian to wait five minutes while I ran to the corner market (and pet store) and buy a pint of vanilla ice cream. Without waiting for a reaction I took off.

Moments later, looking into my eyes, Pepito let me know that he enjoyed more than ever in his life his last taste of ice cream. The pooch left this bitter world with a sweet taste in his mouth.

The assistant laid Pepito on his side, and Gregorian found a vein. And just as he was injecting the hemlock or whatever killing agent they use, Pepito lifted his left hind leg way up --just as I had shown him many times-- and he peed like a he-dog. And I swear, he also stuck his pink tongue out.

Speechless, all I could do was cry--and cry I did for the third time in my life. Truthfully I don't remember how Mary Patricia got me home.

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