As I told nygoldfish54, Sting was neither the brightest nor the bravest, but he was loyal and loving. He looked after my mom and her family, kept them company and loved them unconditionally.
Whenever I visited my mom, he welcomed me home with joy and crazed exhilaration. One time, after he bit my thumb enough to make me mad, he went searching for me and, after finding me, licked my hand and ran off. He was a funny little dog, who ran right into walls when he was excited and always made a quick cameo when my mom and I talked on Skype. He was nervous and twitchy and playful. We went on epic walks and adventures, and he was thoroughly curious about Rambo and Éowyn. Were they food or playmates? Maybe both?
Sting was only eight years old, and had to be put to sleep because of a back-injury. He was an awesome dog and an awesome companion. Most of all, he was a family member and an important part of our lives. We will remember him and miss him, while he looks after us from a place much farther away.
And thank you for taking such good care of my mom. I owe you one.