Marvin loved his dog. It was an Affenpinscher with a touch of some other breed. Marvin called it Tip. Marvin and Tip were inseparable. Tip would go with Marvin absolutely everywhere; except of course where he wasn’t allowed to go, such as the pub and the barber and the bakery.
“I think you love that dog more than you love me,” declared Japonica, Marvin’s wife.
“That’s definitely true,” said Marvin. “You and I have drifted apart over the years, and that dog is my sole consolation and interest in life.”
“The only fear I have,” continued Marvin, “is that when I die the dog will pine away. Dogs do that when they are particularly loved. They stop eating and fade away.”
Well! It so happened! Marvin passed away while taking the dog for a walk. The dog went on its merry way, and upon arriving home carried on as normal. In the meantime Marvin was lying dead as a doornail somewhere on the side of the road.
After the funeral, Japonica the wife dished up the usual dog food and Tip the Affenpinscher ate every morsel. Not once did the dog utter a heart-rending whine of grief, which was a shame because Marvin in his will had bequeathed everything to the mutt.