
1. To me. Yesterday I received a letter from a couple I hadn’t seen or spoken with in decades. It’s an important couple in my life: my first love from high school, and my best friend in high school who eventually married her. I was afraid to answer the letter, in fact; I was sure it would be about someone dying. And it was: my wife.
My two old friends had somehow just learned about Grace’s death in 2024, and wrote me a long, heartfelt letter expressing their sympathy and reminiscing about our shared past. They had met Grace on a couple of occasions. Now I have to write them a letter that will be five times as long, but it is the least I can do in gratitude. It’s lonely around here—thank God for Spuds. That letter was a ray of metaphorical sunshine is shaping up as a gray and drizzly week.
2. To my dog. Speaking of Spuds: we were at the dog park recently where, as usual, my exuberant pit bull mix ran joyfully amuck, greeting and charming all the dog owners and only then playing with their dogs. The Stick Game is one of Spuds’ favorites: he finds a stick, inducing other dogs to chase him and try to take it from him, he lets one get it, then he chases that dog and tries to get the stick back, usually after a spirited tug-o’-war. He was at the latter stage of the game when suddenly his opponent got frustrated and attacked him, biting him several times until his owner pulled him away.
Poor Spuds was clearly upset. Three of the owners that he had greeted earlier and who had witnessed the incident ran over to my dog before I reached him. All three kneeled down in front of him and started stoking and comforting him. I heard one, a young woman whose dog had been involved in Spuds’ stick routine, say, with her face inches from Spuds’ muzzle, “You did nothing wrong…that wasn’t your fault. That was a mean dog…are you okay?” Then they all checked my dogs’ wounds, which fortunately were superficial.
Spuds wagged his tail vigorously. gave each a kiss, and seemed to be back to his usual high spirits.






