Alexander and his brother Nicholas invaded my home 13.5 years ago and my life was never the same. Thank goodness. Built like a wrestler and broad shouldered, it didn't take long for me to nickname him my Handsome Dude Dog. Clearly he had British genes, because he was a bit standoffish with visitors initially, but he had a calm, steadiness about him that warranted a second nickname of Steady Eddie. Despite that demeanor, he loved to play, whether it was catching frisbees in the backyard or playing tug a war in the house. His love of play earned him yet another nickname: Toy Boy, as one by one he would bring his toys out of his room and drop them in front of me, as if to say, "Come on mom, let's play." Alex also enjoyed taking long walks and unlike his brother, who raced around making more progress from side to side than straight ahead, Alex paced himself beautifully so came home at the same pace with which he had started. Alex was my shadow. He followed me from room to room throughout the house, even as he grew older. He especially loved to follow me in the kitchen when I cooked, always optimistic that his mom would drop something on the floor. Way too disappointed I fear, but then mom frequently caved in and gave him a carrot. While stingy with kisses compared to his brother, at least once a day he climbed in my lap and proceeded to lick my face until it was entirely covered with kisses. He would then climb over to the other side of the sofa, curled up and fell asleep. As he grew older his love of toys diminished somewhat, but not his love of long walks. Fortunately his health was such that we could do that, until the very end when the cancer took over. He was, however, to the very end my Handsome Dude Dog.