We were so lucky to have a dog named Tao in our lives. He was different from all the rest—there was nothing he couldn’t do radiantly. Donna, his trainer, said to me so many times when none of the other dogs would behave, “Well thank goodness we have a Tao in our pack!” Tao had perfect manners, as if he had studied a book on etiquette. And he always liked to be treated as if he were taking a curtain call on opening night of a successful play in the West End. He was devoted to us in the way John Gielgud was dedicated to the theatre. To be honest, there was nothing you couldn’t adore about Tao. I wish that Cecil Beaton were still alive, because he would have loved to photograph him . But I was so lucky to be the one to take years of experiences with Tao and put them into the pictures we did together. When Tao got sick and we rushed him to the ER hospital in Vermont, he looked at me so deeply—and after he licked my hand, he seemed to be saying, "Thank you" in the most elegant, gentlemanly way. So many of his fans were heartbroken by his passing. The rock we received from the hospital, inscribed with his name, now rests beside those of his pals Kodiak and Dream in our yard in Montauk, shaded by an old oak tree. Nan and I miss him so much.