Epsilonic proof

I had a friend long ago, that I one day promised when the time came that he could no longer wag his tail, I would take him back home, ( Montana ) and bury him during a blurry moon.
That friend travels with me often..some days more than others. Not that he isn't up to it...I tend to spend a bit more of my time, (in my mind) on the present, the moment. And when the first leaves of Fall, lay brown against green on suburban lawns, and early snaps in the air become commonplace. I let my friend bound, across a Jack frosted field of Red Wintered stubble, ridgid tail, rattling pheasant loose to the sky....