I shall miss the silly old sausage.

One of my most pleasant memories of our first visit to you is sitting on the back porch for what must have been the whole morning, throwing a tennis ball for him to fetch, again and again. He'd bring it back, first bouncy and exuberant, then, as the morning wore on, slower and slower. But nonetheless, you could reinvigorate him just by lifting the ball to throw again.

*hugs* from both of us.