Some say the best things in life are not things. And while I’d generally agree, some things really ARE the best. In that category I’d include my beloved hiking boots.

They came into my life many years ago as I was preparing for a Colorado back pack trip with my oldest son, Jay. In one of those cool “coincidences,” when shopping for boots we each bought the very same brand: Keen.

From day one, they were comfortable and reliable—two attributes of truly good friends.

Through the years we’ve covered many a mile. When in recent months my walking companions began losing tread, beyond the remedy of Shoe Goo, I still went walking with them. I figured we’re all wearing down a bit, but we’re still serviceable.

But yesterday as we made the rounds of disc golf I found the uppers so deteriorated that walking became uncomfortable. These boots were made for walking. But now what?

While I used to rail against the thought that “all good things must end,” through the years I’ve become more inclined to accept demise as the companion of delight. So with a mixture of regret and gratitude I determined that the time had come to release my boots to the universe.

But it seemed cold and ungrateful to just toss my buddies into the dumpster to take their place alongside other’s garbage, trash, and other detritus of our planned obsolescence.

Instead, I buried my sole mates in the backyard, as once I buried the remains of our beloved family dog.

Our very own Boot Hill.

Now I seek an appropriate epitaph.

My favorite comes from the other Boot Hill in Tombstone, Arizona:

"Here lies Lester Moore, Four slugs from a . 44, No Les No more."

Suggestions, friends?