This is Waylon the dog, aka The Sheriff of Tiny-town. That's what Sam always called him when he tried to act like he was head dog in charge. I could just imagine him with a little cowboy hat on coming into the bar under the swinging saloon doors. Now you're really in trouble people.
This will be a short post as I want to remember Sam on the second anniversary of the day he left us, which is tomorrow, but I don't feel much like writing.
What I wanted to tell you all is that I am now remembering the good times. Every once in a while I hear him talking about the sheriff of tiny-town, or his morning mouth feeling like someone had been walking through it in little tiny barn boots, or his maladies as "just part of the wonderful world of being me". Or how something exciting was "Spazmagorikal"
It has been so long that I only remembered the last couple of years of his life and his struggle to stay here. His illness consuming us and becoming our life. It helps going through all of our old pictures and seeing Halloween Parties where is dressed as the Big Bad Wolf, or the scariest of all The Devil, with red cape, horns and fingernails, Yikes!
One of the hardest parts of losing him is the time that has passed. Two years since I heard his sweet voice or felt the touch of his hands. He is alive in my heart, and always will be, and there is never a minute when I don't think about him.
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