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We call them "man's best friend" because they routinely exhibit the virtues and characteristics toward which we, their human "masters," can only strive. Among canines, affability, happiness, thankfulness and forgiveness are the norm; among men, the exception. In fact, one could argue that, of all the canine's gifts to mankind, a sense of humility is the greatest.

In 2003, my wife and I purchased a female golden retriever puppy, whose name was pre-determined: "Aspen," because my better half is from Colorado. I covertly added "Grace" to her registration papers as a middle name because, as a puppy, she was anything but graceful. Her paws, it seemed, were those of a full-grown, 75-pound golden, over which her tiny, rambunctious frame constantly stumbled. We addressed her as "Aspen," except when she engaged in good-natured mischief, which was quite often; then she was "Aspen Grace!"

She immediately became an integral part of our lives. She ate with us, slept with us, traveled with us. We took her to Myrtle Beach, Elkhorn Lake, Va., and Jacksonville, Fla. But Aspen's favorite getaway was to the North Carolina mountains, where her preference for cool weather was accommodated. Robust cheerfulness was her daily disposition, but the giddiest days of her life took place in February 2006 in Banner Elk, where we spent several euphoric days engulfed in a monstrous snowstorm. Giggling in frozen contentment, Maureen and I looked on as Aspen ran, rolled and frolicked in the deep snow.

Joviality and frivolity are golden trademarks, and Aspen was no exception. My arms are scarred from her days as a puppy, when she would meet me at the front door, exuberant at my arrival, and give me the "shark" treatment -- biting one of my arms and flinging her head side to side, as if I were one of her squeaky toys. I wear those scars with pride, as mementos. Regardless of the day's trials and tribulations, her greetings never failed to lift my spirits. It was as if she considered it her duty to bring a smile to the faces of her human "pack" members, to fill the house with laughter.

She loved coffee, but only with cream and sugar. When I had a cup in my hand, she followed me around the house, knowing I would save her a sip. She also enjoyed Mountain Dew, which we occasionally added to her water to make an "Aspen cocktail." Chicken and fish always drew her to the table, but roast beef was probably her favorite "human food."

In 2006, when Aspen was 3, we decided to get her a little brother. Working from the "If it isn't broken, don't fix it" theory, we contacted the breeder and brought home a little red tornado named "Chinook," who was born of the same mother. Now 3 years old, "Nookie" could pass for Aspen's twin and shares many of her attributes. They were inseparable from Day One.

Then came the devastating blow. On Dec. 31, 2008, Aspen, then 5 years old, was diagnosed with lymphoma, a type of cancer that is almost always fatal. Our tears of anguish alternated with a sense of seething hostility over the injustice of it all. For 10 months, we did everything within our power to help Aspen, and she had more good days than bad.

She waged a valiant battle and repeatedly baffled her doctors. But two weeks ago, we knew the end had come. It is heartbreaking to watch the irreversible withering of a beautiful animal that has given so much and asked so little in return. By late-October, Aspen was crippled by the cancer. We had to carry her up and down stairs, bring her food and water, and pick her up to put her in the car. Our sorrow was profound and, not infrequently, debilitating. We put her down on Thursday, Oct. 22. We are eternally grateful for the pleasure Aspen Grace gave us, and pray that she rests in peace.

We would like to thank the doctors and staff of the Oncology Department at N.C. State College of Veterinary Medicine and their counterparts at Carolina Veterinary Specialists here in Greensboro. Last but certainly not least, the Cobb Animal Clinic was (and remains) a safe harbor in the storm. In particular, we appreciate the unparalleled competence and compassion of Drs. Mark Whitley and Gina Meekins.

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Charles Davenport Jr. (cdavenportjr@hotmail.com) is a freelance columnist who appears alternate Sundays in the News & Record.