Squidgy
I don’t want to remember when he died. In my head, he has survived, allowed to haunt my memories. Like catch, I’d throw a ball he’d toss it back, for many minutes we’d play like that. The fetch, that’s a different tale, o he’d go get it, like a lightning bolt. However, it was his choice how the game proceeded, should he drop the ball at my feet, then he was up for another retrieve, but if he tossed it to my hand it was catch, twas his demand. I think deep in my subconsciousness a memory his ghost is telling me it was on this day, this date, he left many years ago
nature beckons… come
walks aplenty… always fun
wildlife… memories
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