Mike Lowe, a former Portland Press Herald/Maine Sunday Telegram staff writer, lives in Saco.

It was just over nine years ago that my boy Alex decided he wanted a dog. 

A few months after he graduated from Bentley University, Alex and his girlfriend (and later, wife) Ali visited an adoption event held by an animal shelter in Massachusetts. There were dozens of dogs but none seemed right to them.

As they were about to leave, though, they noticed this black-and-white dog all alone by the side, its right front leg wrapped in gauze, no one even glancing at him. They walked over and knelt next to him, took him for a short walk and soon they were signing adoption papers for the dog they renamed Mookie — yes, after my boy’s favorite Boston Red Sox player Mookie Betts. (His original name was Nigel, which, no offense to the Nigels of the world, just wouldn’t do.)

Mookie, who had recently turned 11, was a handsome dog who had brown eyes that looked into your soul. A German short-haired pointer originally from Arkansas, he had a black face with a white brim around his black nose. His body was mostly white, speckled with black dots, with the exception of a majestic black circle near his tail.

He stole their hearts and would, over the years, steal the hearts of everyone he met. Those hearts are all broken today.

On Dec. 1, Mookie’s health took an unexpected and dramatic turn for the worst and Alex and Ali had to make the difficult decision to ease his pain and bring him peace. His loss has left a hole in our world.

Mookie was, by all accounts, the best boy. I know all dog owners say that; they’re all probably right. Dogs can bring out the best of us, giving unconditional love, asking in return only for a belly rub, some kibbles and maybe a bite of that cheeseburger you’re eating.

Our daughter Bethany said good-bye to her sweet collie Honeybird almost two years ago. Honeybird was sweet and gentle and she was the best girl. The grief for her was just as great but also different. Her health had slowly declined; Mookie’s decline was sudden.

Mookie had brown eyes that looked into your soul. He had a black face with a white brim around his black nose. His body was mostly white, speckled with black dots, with the exception of a majestic black circle near his tail. He was kind and lovable and regal and goofy — sometimes all at the same moment.

He could make you laugh with a look or while he dissected the latest toy you gave him — within 30 seconds of receiving it. And he had this habit of sticking just the tiniest tip of his tongue out of his mouth as he lay next to you. 

Mookie liked everyone and just about everything. There were things he didn’t like, though. For instance, if you were walking him at night and he noticed the moon, he would bark at it. If he was in the backyard and a plane flew by — hundreds of feet above — he would bark at it until it disappeared from sight. And when we visited Rangeley Lake State Park for our annual camping trip, he did not like any boat that happened by the campsite, even if he just heard it!

But he loved swimming in the water there. And he absolutely loved the snow. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a dog who enjoyed the snow as much as Mookie, running and jumping through it, burying his face in it, chasing snowballs. Perhaps it was fitting that the day after he passed brought us a snowstorm.

He was always punctual, too. As Ali wrote in a poignant Instagram post, “He never let us miss 6 a.m. (breakfast) or 4 p.m. (dinner).” That meant some very early morning walks before breakfast.

Now, Mookie, of course, was my boy’s dog. But my wife Tracie and I came to consider him ours as well, even after we adopted our pandemic pup Buck. He was, my buddy George said, “The only dog I knew who had two homes.”

It’s true. Whether he lived in Waltham, South Boston or Somerville (all in Massachusetts) or Rensselaer or Albany ( New York), he had a second home in Saco. Mookie stayed with us often, usually for a week at a time, and went on adventures with us to the beach, on hikes or to Rangeley Lake. (I must confess that he probably put on a little weight each time he stayed with us.)

He became a regular on my Twitter feed when I was a sportswriter for these papers. I let people know when he visited and chronicled our adventures with photos. He was the star, for sure, as I often had followers asking me for “More Mookie, less Mike.”

Growing up in Massachusetts, my family had cats. And the first pets we had in our Maine home were two cats and a goldfish named Rockhead (don’t ask!). A dog? That was foreign to me. Then Bethany got Honeybird and later Alex got Mookie and Tracie and I had two grandpuppies that we cherished.

During the pandemic, Tracie said we needed a dog for company. Hence, Buck, who is on his way to becoming a best boy. Buck and Mookie were fast friends — despite a rough start when their leashes got tangled on a walk and there was a lot of growling — and I really think Mookie taught Buck how to be a good boy.

The two were inseparable, following in each other’s shadow as they roamed the house or the yard. They loved to chase each other and would start each day with a lengthy tug-of-war. Mookie would go to Buck’s toy box and casually walk past Buck with whatever toy he picked out. Buck would grab an end, and so it began.

Now Mookie outweighed Buck by at least 20 pounds, but somehow Buck always seemed to get away with the toy. I think Mookie let him win. Buck would then drop the toy, and Mookie would pick it up and the game would renew. This would last about 45 minutes, then they would sleep for a while.

It was an especially difficult time for all of us when Mookie passed. But I think he tried to ease our pain. 

I’ve always believed there are things that happen in life that you cannot explain. The morning after Mookie passed, as snow was falling outside their Albany home, Alex opened the blinds on their windows. Mookie had one favorite window in which he watched the world pass by. And on that window sill on that morning was a Christmas candle that somehow was lit — the only one in the house. 

Meanwhile, in Saco, a beautiful red cardinal spent much of that morning and afternoon at our bird feeder. Cardinals are often considered spiritual messengers from loved ones. And we hadn’t had a cardinal at that feeder for weeks. It was certainly a comfort to both of us. 

We spent much of that day sharing stories and videos of Mookie. Some made us cry, others made us laugh. My wife Tracie wrote this to Alex: “Mookie was perfect for all of us and needs to be remembered that way.” He was the best boy. As Alex wrote to us, “We were so lucky to have him.”

Rest easy, Mookie. I hope the rainbow bridge brought you to a snow-covered field where you can run free.