On driving, thinking, and caring

Or how three rescue dogs keep my heart from breaking

This is Papa. He’s 17-years-old. Ancient for any dog, even a small dog. My partner and I recently drove south to pick up Papa. His human was murdered by her daughter. And where should I begin this story? Another year just flipped over.

What am I going to do with my aliveness?

Dogs deserve love. So do humans. It struck me, driving from Washington through Oregon and into California. The homeless tents and camps were anywhere and everywhere that human communities existed. But the unhoused are treated as modern pariahs.