Learning I was autistic gave me insight into my childhood fixations and hurts, into how those things have stayed with me over the decades.
Squirrels are violent maters. I thought about that as metaphor, but I’ve already written that kind of essay, that story.
Even before the pandemic, we’d stopped having people over to the house. It’s become a doghouse that allows a few humans to stay there.
For my rescued hens, every day was the best day they’d ever had.
Is it as eerie as I think it is, this mirroring: the one-woman dogs; the girl babies who come too early, too small?
Aging is a funny thing. You’re not sure if the world has changed, or if a hundred cellular mutations have changed your place in it.
I believe that loving a dog is basically mortgaging future heartbreak against a decade or so of camaraderie—I’d understood this when I got Red. But when confronted with it, I felt shamefully angry at myself for even getting him.