My sister Cathy called the other day at 8am, to let me know that Bob had died. Bob was my dads dog. He was a tall black poodle which my dad NEVER would have considered cutting like a poodle. So he walked around with curly black hair in a "fro" quite often. This dog meant the world to my dad, infact Bob thought he was a human for the most part. He was 13 years and woke up with a bloated stomach. The kids lay around him & cried until his heart slowly stopped beating. I think that the loss of Bob re-opened the wound of losing my dad that day. So I have posted a picture of the mountains, in hope that he and my dad are together again, hiking buddies. We miss you dad, when are you coming home?
