We made our pack as time went by, both learning to read the moods and rules of kindred souls. Our friendship a quilt of life with many patterns and yet no seams.

In those sunrises of each fall we would walk through thick & thin, too reach day's end, to eat, to sleep, to chase the things of that another morning mist may bring. With only the hope that we would rise to that frosty mist, and begin again.

Now I stand at waters edge in patches of briars and bramble, wishing that my old friend could walk with me on one last day, Oh the places that we could ramble.

Alas my friend those days on earth for us are forever gone, but I promise you that when my time comes we will once again hunt hard and long. No birds that fly will escape our eyes and my shot will always be true. This much I owe to you.

Forgive me if I lay upon your pillow and remember all the times we had, the pages of those memories would fill so many reams. That you will find me not just walking with you, but running with you in your dreams.

Bob Morrow April 16th 2002