You and Carlo were the first dogs I ever took care of. You were always the ugly, shy and slightly neurotic small poodle from Manhattan, living in the shadow of cute and feisty Carlo. But I always had a weak spot for you.
I'm sorry that Jerry's photo eventually replaced yours on my night stand.
You were not happy in the last ten days that we had you. Almost blind and mostly restless; I never saw you hopping through the grass any more like you used to. And I let you down. Instead of being unnerved of always cleaning up your accidents and picking you up from outside I should have made you comfortable in your final days. I'm so sorry and I wish I could turn back time, if only to tell you a proper goodbye. I'll never forgive myself for that.
I'm so sorry that I wasn't there when you got so bad. Maybe if I had been there, I could have done something, or at least alleviate your pain, or not let you be alone. I'm so sorry.
I never saw you wag your tail during the last days, except to Jerry whom you took as your friend.
Jerry and I will miss you very much, Monty.
