Ever since we have had a backyard, we have had at least one dog. When we moved into our first home in 1967, we got our first dog, Becket, a German shepherd mix, from my brother, John, who was then a medical student. Becket, named after the "meddlesome priest" Henry II had murdered in 1170 in Canterbury Cathedral, was our wildest dog. Even after he was neutered, he dug under our fence in search of female dogs in heat. John was left with the responsibility for putting Becket to sleep when we were on sabbatical in 1980 and, eerily, visiting Canterbury. Becket was anything but a meddlesome dog.

Five years after Becket joined our family, a neighbor gifted us Patty, a Samoyed Husky-golden retriever mix. She was our prettiest dog and the only one to pose with us for formal family pictures, including one taken on the afternoon of the bar mitzvah of our older son, Michael.

After Becket died, we brought home two companions for Patty, both yellow Labradors. The first, Tawny, died at a young age after eating rocks. Tawny was our dumbest dog. The second, Glory, our most stubborn dog, lived a long life.

After Patty died in the late 1980s, we received a great gift named Bo, a purebred German shepherd. Bo was our most regal and smartest dog. When Glory collapsed in our backyard one February evening, Bo tried to drag her to cover on our porch. We didn't actually witness Bo's rescue efforts, but when we came home, we found Bo lying watch over Glory, whose mangled left ear testified to Bo's efforts to pull her to safety. We had Glory put to sleep that night.

Bo lived until Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday in 2001. He was a proud dog who possessed a commanding presence and fierce, deep bark until late in life, when he couldn't get up to relieve himself in the backyard. You could see the embarrassment on his noble face.

Toward the end of Bo's life, we obtained Harley. She and Bo were great companions and loved to walk together until Bo's legs wouldn't carry him any farther.

At some point after Harley joined Bo, the two dogs began coming to the table for the Shabbat blessings, Bo sitting in a dignified manner on his haunches, watching our every move, and Harley dancing excitedly and waiting with great anticipation for the blessing over the challah to conclude. We would reward each with a piece, or two or three, of challah.

After Bo died, Harley remained our faithful Shabbat dinner companion. When the candles, wine and challah were placed on the Shabbat table, Harley would leap with joy, much like the young Chasidim dance and sing their way to welcome Shabbat at the Western Wall. Harley's excitement would grow as we lit the candles and recited the blessings over the wine and the challah. As we hit the last note of the Hamotzi, Harley would jump and squeal. Only after she swallowed whole her pieces of challah would she calm down and allow the peacefulness of Shabbat to settle over her.

When Harley had to be put down just before Shabbat last week, we were deeply saddened - to the point that for the first time we couldn't perform the Shabbat blessing - not without Harley. We will resume the rituals this week - without Harley - but remembering how special those many Shabbats with her were.