“This marks the passing of a great and much-loved Lamma icon,” said Samson, a commentator on the Lamma-zine website (www.lamma.com.hk).

Lobert’s favorite spots, namely at the outdoor Man Fung Seafood Restaurant and at The Island Bar, meant that almost no one arriving on Lamma missed seeing him when strolling into the village from the pier.

With Lamma attracting thousands of day-visitors from the hotels and housing blocks of urban Hong Kong each sunny weekend, Lobert became familiar to urban-dwellers and to visitors from overseas too.

Aged 16 or so, he succumbed to age and related deterioration. No longer able to eat or walk properly, he was euthanized. His departure drew tears from the restaurant’s staff.

As a tribute, The Island Bar’s management plans to hang a commemorative plaque for Lobert, an honor afforded to very few of its human customers. The plaque will read: “Lobert, a Lamma Legend, 13.03.07.”

Absolutely, he qualified as a celebrity, the most famous among Lamma’s thousands of animals. Such elevated status never went to Lobert’s head. He always looked somber, thoughtful and maybe a little sleepy while observing people, dogs and occasional cats strolling past. Rarely hostile, noisy or overly friendly, he became the ultimate pedestrian watcher.

“He showed a lot of character in his features,” said Vicky Baker, a Lamma artist and photographer.

In recent days, much of the chatter and the woofing along Main Street mentioned Lobert’s illness and demise. Here are some of the comments:

“You can bet that if you asked 10 Yung Shue Wan residents for a shortlist of their Lamma icons, Lobert would appear on at least nine lists. The same applies with regular visitors to Lamma.”

“Patrolling his beat from the Man Fung Restaurant to The Island Bar, the sitting-out area (across from the bar) and the roasted-chestnut stand, Lobert gave many years of faithful service to his community.”

“Lobert had more character than some of the Lamma characters who surface from time to time.”

“He asked for little, just some fresh water set out and a small treat now and then, but he gave much to this community.”

“Too bad he didn’t get royalties from the many photos taken of him over the years.”

Nick the Bookman, a rival Lamma icon who occupies a favorite corner down the street from Lobert’s turf, said: “Lobert had a good life. He lived through much of two decades in two centuries and two millennia.”

Lobert’s human friends soon posted tributes in Lamma-zine’s public forums.

“I miss Lobert very much,” said a writer nicknamed Honey Moon. “When I first came to Lamma, I saw this short-legged dog with a funny face. He was really cute. I always called his name, and he’d wag his tail. He was nice, the icon of Man Fung.”

“Sad news indeed,” wrote another person. “Now the Man Fung needs a new mascot and clearer of scraps.”

Lobert spent so much time stretched out among the restaurant’s seaside tables that local people considered him part of the Man Fung’s management. He rarely “missed a shift”. If the eatery opened for business, that’s where Lobert could be found. The staff encouraged him, fed him and protected him from cold weather with thick shirts or gaudy overcoats. Diners deemed him a curiosity, proof of the “craziness for pets” prevalent on Lamma.

“Usually, Lobert was the first one I said hello to when coming home to Lamma every day,” said Gisela, another Lamma-zine reader.

Seldom spry even when younger, Lobert rarely wandered away much beyond The Island Bar adjacent to the restaurant. He made friends and became a regular there too.

Online writer Dusty Mop called him “one of the more interesting characters” around the bar. “He’ll be sorely missed.”

An online tribute from Eileen addressed the deceased: “Being the wise dog you were, you hung around The Island Bar where you would be sure of a pack of nuts or crisps given by the bar punters. I think that whoever made the choice for you to go must have looked down and saw what a welcome addition you’d be to the place where one day some of us will meet you again, and perhaps you’ll offer us a paw.”

Lobert proved “spry enough” to procreate a few times. “He fathered one of my dogs, Shye, who died several years ago,” said Nick the Bookman. “Lobert was your basic Lamma short dog, and Shye stood much taller. I often wondered who the Mommy was, and how it they did it.”

The dog’s double name (Lobert / Robert) emerged from different pronunciations by his human friends of assorted mother tongues. Some spoke Cantonese, others English or other languages. Maybe the proximity of The Island Bar, and some of the slurred speech there, contributed too.

“Lobert hadn’t looked well in the past week,” said Samson. “But the last time I saw him, he crippled towards a fellow Lammaite who had called out to him. Although restricted in movement, he wagged his tail and looked very happy.”

Then Samson delivered an eloquent eulogy: “Affectionately known as the ‘hippo dog’ by some, Lobert’s appearance, those dreary eyes, the dull-yet-cute facial expression and those short legs, made us laugh and forget our stressful off-island lives.

“From enjoying his scrumptious seafood feasts at the Man Fung to pub-crawling at the Island Bar or lazing around in his distinctive way, Robert became a part of our daily lives. Definitely, he sealed a place in Lamma’s collective memory.

“Farewell, old friend. Ain’t no other dawg’s gonna replace yer. Rest in peace.”

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