Mark Lee Vallequette, age 68, passed away on Monday November 17 after a challenging and characteristically stubborn battle with lung cancer. One that somehow lasted longer than anyone expected, given his 55-year dedication to smoking, drinking, and ignoring medical advice. He was predeceased by his mother Wave Vallequette; father Edward Vallequette; brother Barry Vallequette. He is survived by his wife Joann Vallequette who deserves a medal; two daughters Anna Banks (Mike) and Alizabeth Leva (Jim Reynolds); two granddaughters Addison and Mia; sister Denise O'Meara (Rick); many aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews. Mark lived life exactly the way he wanted: quietly, hardheadedly, and preferably without the sound of anyone vacuuming. He could not stand noise, especially if it came from someone doing something useful, like cleaning his house. He spent much of his life lecturing about how to do things "the right way," and making sure no one ever left a light on unnecessarily. He learned everything he knew about hunting from his dad. Ed believed the best way to build character was to park Mark in one spot in the woods and tell him not to move until he got back. And Mark didn't. Not even when it was pouring rain, getting dark, or when he was half-convinced he'd become a permanent part of the forest floor. We can't forget his lifelong hunting partner and cousin, Jerry Ciotoli. Together they spent decades hunting wild game. Their bond was forged in shared tradition, robust coffee, and a deep love of freezing their asses off at 5 a.m. for "fun". Mark devoted many years as a member of the Cayuga Lake Beagle Club, where he ran beagles on rabbits in every field trial he could possibly enter. He trained his dogs with the kind of intensity most people reserve for Olympic athletes. Some of them even became Field Champions. Collectively, him and his dad won a multitude of field trials over several decades. Mark could run a dog at sunrise, argue with a gun dog judge at noon, and then be ruling the roost at the bar by dusk. He loved hunting, Genny Red Eye with a shot of Black Velvet, and pretending the dog "deserved it." He thought anyone who drove 5 miles under the speed limit was reckless, and anyone who thought they knew more than him about hunting or HVAC was simply wrong. Always. Despite it all, he showed up. To games, practices, graduations, weddings and to every big moment. Often grumpy, always himself, but simply by being there, he made all the difference. In the quality family-time leading up to his passing, he admitted he'd always wondered if anyone ever wrote brutally honest obituaries. We started drafting a tongue-in-cheek version for him and, to our surprise, he loved it. May he rest in peace, on his own terms, deep in the woods of eternity, where the deer are slow, the beer is cold, and he's muttering about how everyone up there is an idiot. In lieu of flowers or services, the family suggests lighting a cigarette, pouring a stiff drink, and saying something mildly inappropriate in his honor. He would've liked that.

Sent from my