Harry
1992 is the year I generally regard as the worst of my life. So many things went wrong that year that it would take too long to list them here. One of the first was the death in January of Virginia. She was our cat for 16 years. The single bright spot for that year came in May. I was spending the weekend with my brother over in Sarasota. We called home to check in with my parents that, out of the blue, they had ended up with a dog. Back in those days, my mother was still working at an Elementary School. And one morning, this little bedraggled dog had come onto campus. One of the custodians took him down the street thinking he was lost in the neighborhood. The dog came back. Eventually, he ended up in the office where they were trying to figure out who would look after him while they tried to locate the owner. My mother quickly volunteered and my father came over and picked him up. He was a Lhasa Apso, although he was in such a mess they it took some time for them to figure that out. I ...