Then came Max — Lily’s golden retriever, her constant shadow since childhood. We’d kept him at home, thinking it would be too overwhelming for him. But somehow, he escaped. Ran three miles across town to find her. We still don’t know how.

What followed has been etched in everyone’s memory since.

As the choir finished “Amazing Grace” and the priest began his closing prayer, a sharp bark echoed through the church. Heads turned. Gasps filled the room.

Max charged through the doors and ran straight to the casket, barking with a force and desperation that silenced the room. When someone tried to pull him away, he growled — not in aggression, but in panic. He circled the coffin, pawing and howling, his body tense with urgency.