WHERE DOES THE time go? It's been about six months since I've submitted a column, but it seems like yesterday. Time is flying by and smelling the roses is getting harder and harder to do, given the hectic pace we all seem to adhere to these days. It sometimes takes a swift kick in the (head) to get me to remember to slow down and put a nose to a posey, and one of those kicks came last Sunday and Monday.

Sunday, as you know, was Father's Day. It was a grand day to honor Dad and be honored. While I never fathered human offspring, my wife insists on getting me gifts and cards because I am "daddy" to our pampered pooches, Frosty & Snowman. Frosty and Snowman are my daily reminders that innocence, playfulness and unconditional love make the world a wonderful place.

I only hope that was what my Father thought of me when I was young.

Wilson Smith passed away 12 years ago last Sunday, the 17th. It was a Saturday in 1995 and he was 20 hours short of his 78th birthday, which was a Sunday, Father's Day, to be exact. I will never forget those two days in June, but not because of the pain, because of the poignancy. He was a simple man, who lived his whole life in Wyoming, save for a four-year stretch called World War II. Daddy was a former rancher, who died during one the wettest springs on record. He was a wonderful father, husband, friend and human being. I have never met a gentler human soul, and I doubt I ever will.

Daddy was also a very patient man, something I can only aspire to be. He was a wonderful parent and teacher, but it's his soft hand I remember, not his discipline. Oh sure, there were times when my brother and I would misbehave and he'd start to pull his belt out of the loops and we'd freeze where we were and promise to never do it again. Odd thing, I remember him pulling his belt off a few times, but I don't remember him ever using it. In fact, I don't even recall him even spanking us, although he must have because my brother and I were far from angels. We did however, think our Father was an angel and we adored him.

We adored him for his innocence, playfulness and unconditional love.

Happy belated Father's Day, Daddy. I don't feel guilty for writing this a little late. I think of you every day.