He was only a dog

A friend of mine lost her beloved dog recently. After a lifetime of love, this big old Lab mix closed his tired eyes and was gone. My friend was trying to be brave but I could hear the sadness in her voice as she hung up the phone. To some he was only an old dog, but to her he was something more. He was a valued part of her family.

Tonight, I was sitting on my front porch in my old Adirondack chair thinking about my friend and wishing I could take away some of her sadness. Then I felt a gentle tug at my feet.

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With an eye on the storm

(When real life seems like a parody of itself, The River Muse adopts the persona of Dolly Dualander, woman of many homes.)

“Why, we are almost homeless!” Dolly sputtered in disbelief, as the mighty Delaware waged its battle with her precious land, her river view, her idyll, her aerie.

The day before, Dolly and her neighbors had helped clear a friend’s basement of boxes of linens and memorabilia, in preparation for the promised deluge. She felt sure that the Buddha statue in her friend’s yard smiled approvingly at her, even though she found it too heavy to relocate to higher ground.

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Happy birthday

Something had been nagging at the back of my mind. There was an anniversary or something coming up, and I couldn’t quite think of what it was. Going back through my “sent mail” folder, I figured it out—it was just about a year ago that former The River Reporter editor, Charlie Buterbaugh, invited me to start this column. So it’s the first birthday of “The Peace and Justice Files,” and an apt occasion for self-assessment.

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