Here's a video of my first therapy dog, Bella. She was recused from Dead Dog Beach in Puerto Rico and we adopted her when she was four months old. She was super active and my vet suggested that she needed a job. We tried agility but it wasn't the right fit. But when she became a therapy dog at age five, we were all set. Bella was intuitive and curious and knew just what to do whether working with students or visiting patients in the hospital. This volunteer work provided the perfect balance to writing, and I'm still at it, now with my second therapy dog, Rudy. My book about Bella is titled "Joy Unleashed: The Story of Bella, the Unlikely Therapy Dog." It's done really well and is in its third printing. Enjoy!

Living a somewhat predictable family life, while leading a nomadic life of unpredictability at the same time, forces one to live life in the moment. Moments often escape the mind as you move from one to the next, leaving others behind with the expectation of our brain to store them as memories, and the anticipation of our brain's ability to recall these moments when referenced. The ultimate trust we must all radically accept. Being recently disabled, it has been a struggle adjusting to life slowing down. Taking care of myself was always a last priority. Being diagnosed with PTSD, major depression, and an anxiety disorder became too much for me to be able to endure after the addition of a pandemic, mysterious illnesses, toxic relationships, and irresponsible decision making landed me in a week-long mental health hospitalization. Depression won't allow one to receive love and embrace it. It doesn't care how fortunate of a life the person has that it infects, nor does it care about the impact of one's life on others. My family is full of love, I have been able to rely on a handful of amazing friends throughout my life, I had an important job helping others, yet I still couldn't escape my depression. I remember the uber ride home to my one bedroom apartment in my clothes I arrived in a week prior, someone broken and incomplete, someone I am not anymore. I recall walking into my apartment, stale despair lingering in week-long stagnant air, dancing with the smoky notes of whiskey left dripping on the bathroom floor. All my things in disarray. 'What a shithole' I remember thinking to myself, looking through the eyes of this person I used to be, numb enough to gather everything in sweeping motions into trash bags. I was scared. I was disappointed in myself for how I left my home for anyone to have to see if I had been gone. I was sad, I was lonely. This was the hardest day of that whole experience. I'm a human being, I wanted a companionship. I needed that presence of another life in mine. With such trauma tied to so many relationships in my past, how in hell was I going to move forward in my life having companionship? I had been burned so many times with exes in such a variety of ways I'd sooner offer lucifer fellatio at their place than entertain a date of any kind. I was in outpatient therapy, quarantined at home, alone. Naturally, I was a codependent person historically. Shaken by anxiety every day, having crying spells, speaking to my therapist and mother led me to decide I was going to get a dog. For the first time in years, I felt the warmth of overwhelming love lift the weight off my heart for this new companion that I didn't even know! I was able to feel real excitement for something I wanted more than anything in that moment in time. My parents, siblings, friends all supported me; aiding in the search of my dog. I found the most handsomest little schmoop I've ever loved with my whole heart, Arthur. The second I picked him up, he melted into me for safety, and I never felt more safe and joyful. I have had dogs I have loved in the past, but with animals it's as if there are no rules, you can love them all the most and that's okay. I had met and held others, but he was the one that I needed to take home with me. From that day forward it was he and I against the world. He gave me a reason to wake up every day, because he would slobber all over me and tell me all about how excited he was for a day with me until I got up to take him outside. I was unable to sink into my deep, dark days of depression because this fluffy, happy little floof depends on me. He loves me and he wants to spend time with me. If he's awake, he expects me to be awake too. Not my favorite dynamic at first when it came to kennel training. Which is why I failed and let him sleep with me on the third night where we both slept the most peaceful sleep either of us had ever had. Arthur has shown me what it is like to be loved unconditionally. There is nothing he would rather do besides be with me. I had the opportunity to give him a great deal of exposure to others by getting my ESA letter from my psychiatrist. He was in the car with me everywhere I went from that day forward. He came to the office with me every day and sat faithfully by my side, comforting me. He lays with me when I am sick, sad, or anxious. He plays with me, even if I am not in the mood, he gets me up and moving my body around playing fetch and chasing each other around the house until my asthmatic ass turns into a kazoo. I'd like to say he doesn't judge me, but he does get awfully mouthy sometimes when I am hesitant to comply with his demands to push myself. He is everything that I need to be a better person. He is my best friend, my angel who saved me. He's my Boo Boo, he's a good boy. He's my dog, Arthur Lew, and he'll always be my favorite floof.

I watch my old dog from the kitchen window, lying flat out on her side in the heat: dreaming, I reckon, of the birth of her puppies that day when our two youngest crammed inside her kennel, with her and all six of her pups—while she licked and cuddled and groaned and shone with canine pride. I step outside and she's awake in an instant, watching me walk across the yard—like a hawk, she watches—not trying to make it too obvious: unlike the way she would have ten years ago. I make some eye contact but not too much or both of us will get uncomfortable. Don't want her thinking I'm thinking what she is: time to go wander the universe, to check the traps: the earth, the sky and the stars. To see that there's more life than death out there. For we, the two of us, can't really believe the rumour of our demise, the falling down, the unravelling they call entropy. No way! We will get up and walk, we will! We, the two of us, will see the lights, taste the wind, hear the birds; feel the leaves, smell the air, know that all is well. She knows, I know, we both know, the dying is closer now; so close we have to stand up, stretch and make some kind of noise to the universe: telling her that we stand with her. That we are also not happy about these rumours of her coming collapse. That we feel the quiet indignation of the old stock horse, the old mate trimming his lawn, the sparrow; the friend on chemo and the giant mountain ash—the disgrace of this steady, rolling thunder of decay, of loss. Even of that most lovely of secrets we call memory. Huh! What a pathetic word for such a glory. As if this is simply a matter of electrical signals in some freaking brain cells! This memory of the birth of the first daughter, the first grandson; the first puppies: just a memory? Whatever! My thesaurus says: yes, we have recall, retention and recollection. But then it adds, as if it almost forgot to mention: commemoration, tribute, honour, observance and recognition. It doesn't look like it and we don't want it to look like it either; but me and the old dog are crossing this highway to adore the sun, the earth under our feet: the stars and the trees late at night when you can't even see them—just feel them, hear them—know they are there: behind those clouds, through that inky darkness. And you're tempted to bow down and worship their shy glory, like the glory of that grandchild, yesterday; bringing a flower from my wife's garden, telling me that she also knows what I'm thinking: what we are all thinking and feeling and honouring and commemorating.

“Does this make you feel any sort of way?” I was asked, an inquisitive look flashing across the doctor's face. “Sometimes being diagnosed with something can be,” she paused, debating her next word choices. “Affirming?” I asked her. I looked around the well decorated room trying to formulate my thoughts. The velvet couch that I was sitting on irritated me and almost made me feel like I needed to itch every part of my body. The psychiatrist's many degrees were displayed across the cream walls, held up by matte black picture frames. The room felt stuffy. No book was out of place and no painting was not curated so that it matched perfectly to the room. The perfection strangled me and soothed me at the same time. While sitting there listening to her talk, I had managed to peel off all of my nail polish that I had recently gotten painted, green flakes of paint piling in my hands. I thought being diagnosed with a mental disorder that I had known that I had for many years would be affirming. Instead, it filled me with a sense of dread. Sleepless nights now had a reason. Hands washed over and over again now had an explanation. You would think that would have given me some peace, but instead only one word flashed across my mind, over and over. Crazy. Two long months later, Covid-19 entered the United States. Every night, I sat on the couch with my family, listening to various politicians discuss scientific topics they knew nothing about. Every so often, a case notification would flash across my phone, informing me that someone in my country, state, or city had been recently infected by Covid-19. Buildings were shut down and restaurants started to change their ways to accommodate the new ways of life. Irrational fears once only held by me were now prevalent in the public. People started washing their hands an abnormal amount of times and wore gloves while walking their dogs. In a way, it made me feel less alone. It became hard to come up with new things to do everyday. Like many other people, I tried new workout videos and watched TV that I had never seen before. I deep cleaned every area of my house and read mystery novels in my bed while listening to the rain. I had online classes but they were a joke; none of my teachers had any experience teaching online and it was impossible to focus in the confines of my room. We tried to distract ourselves with board game nights and themed dinners, but it was hard to ignore how the seasons flashed before our eyes and we were still stuck in our houses. Like everyone around me, I slowly started to lose it. It became tiring to do things that were once considered relaxing and all the time left alone with my thoughts allowed anxiety to sneak past my senses. Like many other people around me, I was scared to leave the house for various reasons; I didn't want to infect my father who was a doctor and was needed on the front lines or my mother who was still trying to navigate ways to teach her students from her desk. It became hard to decipher what thoughts were rational and which thoughts were not. Eventually, I became tired of trying to control the ever-present anxiety that had once made me feel so alone. A few months later, my family was in the car driving to Pennsylvania. We had packed the car with all the things we thought we would need; blankets were piled in the back, toys rolled around in the trunk, and excitement filled the car with happiness that we hadn't felt since pre-pandemic. We reached our destination, my brother and I practically falling out of the car running to the door. As I stepped in, outfitted with an N95 mask, I was greeted with wonderful little bundles of fur nipping on my shoelaces. I knelt down as eight little puppies ran around with no control over their own limbs, tripping and falling over each other. Many seconds later, they started to tire and settled down, snuggling with each other while falling asleep. However, one puppy could not handle her excitement and was still climbing all over me, nuzzling her head into my hair while trying to chew on my earring. At that moment I knew that I hadn't come here, to this little house in Pennsylvania, to choose a puppy. The puppy had already chosen me. Flash forward two years later, and my pandemic puppy was one of the best things that ever happened to me. She forced our family to go on walks in the neighborhood and interact with people from afar. She brought happiness to our lives that we didn't know we needed. At the time I didn't know that it was possible for a dog to bring me so much joy. Now I know that by adopting her, we didn't just save her life, we saved mine.

On Friday evening as I was coming back from work , along the road I saw a man with 4 puppies seated by the road side , I stopped to admire the puppies, my love for dogs is so massive but I had no one and would love to get one. So I asked the man how much one of the puppies cost and he told me 1000$. I was shocked because that's my salary for 6 months, the man smiled and told me to succeed in life,I need to take some risk; I smiled and zoomed off. Inside the car, I said to myself " why would I buy a dog for such an amount when I could secure my house without any form of stress or bother". when I got home, I made some researches on dogs and found out that their prices were based on the bread of the dog. But sincerly, I needed a dog not just for security but my love for them kept driving me crazy , "what will I do to get this dog since I can't afford the amount they demand" , I discussed with my girlfriend who was zoophobia, but she told me that she will end our relationship if I ever get a dog in my house , I called my elder brother to borrow some money from him to buy the dog , but I never knew why I was so obsessed with having this dog to the extent of taking loan to buy it; but I never knew that I was headed towards destiny. so when I finally got the loan from my elder brother,I called my girlfriend to tell her that I was going to get they dog the following day , she was so mad at me and started telling me on how our relationship would end if I ever bought the dog, I tried everything possible to make her understand that love is all about sacrifice but she said that I have to choose either her or they dog so finally I made my decision by going ahead to buy the dog at the expense of my relationship. The following day, I went to the place I saw the man and those puppies luckily for me I found him there, then I asked him if he stays there often, he said yes because the people that buy his puppies are mostly strangers passing through that route. I nodded my head in amazement and then told him I wanted to buy a male dog but he adviced me to buy a female dog. I was adamant but I later changed my mind.He reduced the price of the puppy to 800$ and then recommend a veterinary doctor for me. I named my dog "Scott". Everyone seemed displeased about my new dog, but I have never been more happy. I took my dog to the vet house for proper check up before taking her home , little by little "Scott" began to grow into an adult dog and a loveable dog who provides security for everyone in my street After one year Scott received an award for the tallest and most lovable dog of the year, the award also came with other incentives to the owner. I became so popular and rich. After some months I noticed blood stains around my house so I was so afraid that scott had injured herself, I went out to check on her but she was looking healthy with no injuries then I noticed that the blood was dropping from her vagina; so I reported to my vet doctor immediately, he told me that it was a sign that Scott needs to meet with a male dog and that she was on her period at that moment. But I had no male dog I replied him, he now told me to bring Scott to his house, it was hard for me to let go of Scott for a day but I then took Scott to his house, after a couple of days he called me to come and pick Scott up and advised me to be giving her more of calcium till she gives birth. I thanked him and left his house with Scott I was so happy to see Scott again this time with babies. After some weeks I started noticing some changes in Scott's body, her breast changed to pink, she lost her appetite for food and she now backs at any slightest noise which I also complained to my vet doctor who made me to understand that it were signs of the pregnancy. I was so happy because I have already calculated how much I would make from selling those puppies, I prayed that they puppies would be up to six in number. Some weeks later she delivered 12 puppies, I was shocked at they site of seeing those puppies because they were so tiny. I called my doctor immediately to come over to my house which did and he was marvelled , he said that the highest he has seen a dog deliver in a while was 10. So after some weeks due to the fact that Scott was a public figure I sold out the puppies in a day at the cost of 4000$ each , I was able to pay back my loan and became very reach to the extent of opening a dog farm of my own, all this happened because I made they right decision back then , Scott later died after 8 years but she made me a rich and successful man before she died.

Worried. Anxious. Unsettling. This is the 20th century, where modern medicine has an answer to everything. Well, almost. As the number of COVID-19 patients and death cases continue to rise, most of the governments around the world are taking preventive measures by limiting human interactions and likewise in Malaysia, Movement Control Order (MCO) was instituted. Since early June, this blessed nation is in the recovery phase where the experiences of being in a state of lockdown was no longer apparent. In fact, the concern is no longer about the pandemic but rather, the state of the economy which came to a standstill since the lockdown began. Reflecting on what happened three months back, where the streets in major cities were quiet and similarly with shopping malls where only essential service providers such as groceries and pharmacies were opened, and the light rail transit – which people complained about being ‘sandwiched' in their daily commute previously – was simply empty. As I experienced working between being in the office and working from home on alternate weeks, I have the best of both worlds, having the ability to enjoy the serenity of working from home as well as being able to experience the world out there on my way to the office during that period. Outside home, I experienced the ghostly neighbourhood feeling – parks were empty as joggers stayed home to abide by the laws related to the lockdown and the roads which were usually congested during the rush hour was even quieter than during the major festive seasons when many had left for their hometowns. During those weeks where I got to work from home, I experienced the additional time that was previously allocated for being stuck in traffic jams. Time that was saved from not travelling from point A to B – and this included not having to go through congestions, traffic lights, looking for parking, stopping at toll gates and other miscellaneous braking that will add time to a journey has allowed me to appreciate the environment around me more than before, and I was astonished with how beautiful life is when I am given time to look at the varieties of flowers I have in my garden, to listen to the birds chirping, to breathe the fresh air and yes, hold my wife's hand. All this under the roof that we have committed to grow old together in. Another change: I agreed with my wife to order our groceries online. Again, we saved time by efficiently selecting what we wanted online instead of hanging out in grocery stores and subsequently not needing to queue at the cashier as well as to wait for the lift! The next activity may not involve much time saving but has greatly enhanced our quality of life where my wife has cooked more often than before. While watching my wife cook, I visualised myself being the hardworking farmer, toiling in the farms from dawn till dusk, all sweaty and muscular at the end of the day. Plans are underway to incorporate some farming activities in my gardening routines. As much as I appreciated the new sense of quiet and the fresh air, as a dog lover, I am not allowed to leave my home, let alone walk the dogs! From this lockdown, I learnt that apart from walks, what they enjoyed most is me being around them. They enjoy pats (and massages too!) on their forehead, being groomed, or being talked to. It is no wonder that they are man's best friend – they simply mirror and adapt to my lifestyle and moods. Apart from time in the garden with my dogs, I managed to enjoy television series and movies from my living room television. One of them was Zoo, an American drama television series based on the 2012 novel of the same name by James Patterson and Michael Ledwidge. Premiered on June 30, 2015, I can't help but feel the goosebumps while pondering about how interconnected the current pandemic is with what I am watching in front of me. With theories about the COVID-19 virus originating from animals and infecting humans, Zoo encapsulates all that, and more. In the television series, animals were infected with a virus that made them aware of their hierarchy in the planet and they have the intelligence to coordinate with various species from various levels of the food chain to put human ‘in their place', reversing their fate as a subservient species to be a dominant one. This reminded me of the meme of how animals started roaming free during lockdowns around the world while humans remained ‘locked-up' in their own homes. This pandemic has been an eye-opening experience. Not many thought such an event could happen in their lifetime. Unlike any crisis that the world has seen before, say, perhaps the major world wars, everybody was affected, regardless of race, creed or religion. The question that loomed ahead is: How did we get into this mess? And how are we going to get out of this? I don't have the answer. Perhaps Mahatma Gandhi did. “The world has enough for everyone's need, but not enough for everyone's greed.”

Everyday I try to get up and partake in some form of exercise to stay in shape and keep myself healthy. My favorite choice is a nice bike ride before the world is awake. When the sun is rising, I can feel the cool breeze run through my hair, hitting my face gently while listening to the song of the birds playing above. It is a peaceful time for me to rejuvenate and reflect on anything mind pressing. On this morning, my peace was disturbed when two dogs viciously ran after me out of nowhere, trying desperately to grab a leg or deter me from my destination. “What did you do?” My friend asked me while I told her this story later in the day, “Do you carry a stick or something with you to scare them away?” I laughed lightheartedly, and shook my head, “No. I just pedaled harder and faster, using that fear and intimidation as motivation to keep moving. Eventually they became tired and turned around and it helped me achieve a good workout!” We laughed and moved onto our next discussion. It wasn't until the next day that I realized that this same scenario applies to our everyday life. When we have a goal in mind that we are trying to reach, of course there will be negative people coming at us. Trying to knock us from our path, barking at our heels to cause intimidation. That could also be our own inner voice, unfortunately. Should we let that stop us? No, absolutely not. We keep our focus forward and use their discouragement as fuel to light our fire that burns from within to help us pedal harder and faster to reach our goal. Sometimes I need that reminder, and this time it came in the form of two dogs. Thank you for the chase!

I am reacquainted with puppy belly every morning, and the smooth, full fatness of it-- brings me joy. Even in the leanest of times. Each morning since March 13 I've woken-- sometimes on puppy time or husband time or son time, but mostly on my own time (definitely not job time)-- and felt my dachshund-beagle mix, Ray, curled up next to me. "'Ray' like the girl in the new Star Wars?" people ask me. "No," I say. "'Ray' like in Ray Bradbury." "Oh," people say, confused. Maybe because they don't know who Ray Bradbury is or maybe because he was a man and my Ray is a girl. These days, she's a ray of sunshine, and I see beauty in her like I see in Bradbury's words and she certainly thinks she can perform the Jedi mind trick. (Those brown eyes. "You're going to feed me," they say.) Every morning, as I stir, the perfect curl of her body becomes a stretching comma. Then I say, "Good morning, Ray Ray," and she goes belly-up like a sprayed roach, legs and arms splayed, her magnificent puppy belly exposed to the world. Vulnerable but trusting. I wish I could have that much faith in the world right now. The best part is, she gets sucked into our 3-inch foam topped mattress, unable to move easily, frozen into a pose of "pet me now." So I do. I wave my hand back and forth over her rough white hair, so different than the smooth, black coat she has on top. It's a marvel. I pet her from her small barrel-like chest down to the convex arch of her taut puppy belly, the curve of which I might have never paused to notice in the "normal" world, the one where I'm always crushed for time-- the alarm, the waking of sons, the packing of lunches, the feeding of dogs and chickens, the hurried making of coffee, the brushing of teeth. Ray doesn't wag her tail in these moments. She's still and submissive and full of faith. Maybe she doesn't wag her tail because moving through the foam is like moving against the current. Too much effort. Maybe she doesn't wag because she senses that movement nudges our day forward. It compels us to make some type of progress. And we should be still and live in this puppy belly moment. The world outside is moving fast enough.

Oh my gosh! I am almost there! I have just chosen the cover for my book Viktor which is estimated to be out sometime in the summer of 2020. Time is flying by or have you not noticed?? LOL It is so great to be publishing. I have waited forty years to do this and I am ever so excited. My fantasy fiction novel is about a young vampire who has fallen in love. He desires a normal life and wife and kids and the whole nine yards. He is moral and loving; but, he must fight for all that is good. He is loved by many and wanted by all. In his fight for his life he must save himself and everyone else for if he doesn't; all will fall into hell. I'm proud to say so far that Friesen Press is helping me to Self publish this book. I am so excited and thrilled to be able to see my work in a real book. This is amazing to me and something everyone should try and do. This past summer I retrieved myself another Chi. She is adorable and her name is D'aff N'aia. She compliments my Bonzo quite nicely. Quite the little monkey she is; I might add, yet her lovely demeanor is very loving. Right now she is teething and biting my hands up to shreds. She loves my knuckles and has taken a liking to chomping on them at any chance she gets. She cries whenever she can't see you and has dug up the dirt in my plants. I love that she airrates; but the mess!!!LOL puppies! She's also discovered she likes coffee! Yes, when she kisses me she can taste it on my lips. She is very smart and has come to using her paws to pull my lips apart and get in a few laps. Her nails are so sharp when she paws you, that you cannot help but open your mouth! You're laughing too hard not too and she just jumps in there and starts lapping up the remnants! I swear she's too smart for her own good! Well, she's not getting any more than that! She's definitely hyper already without coffee in the mix! Honestly, she is too cute! Well, at some point this winter I must carry on with "In the Garden of Life". It has been waiting for me. Doing the re-writes for Viktor has taken me away from writing it; but now, I have the time to dedicate to this children's novel about two bees in the garden. I'm trying to make it a magical story and yet I'm not polished at all on magic! Time to study!! Honestly, I haven't a clue how this story will turn out and yet I am excited to write it. Time will tell! Looking forward to hearing from you, Best Regards, Jules

I was born aboard a roaring C130 over the airspace of the Caspian Sea. This was pre-9/11, so modern air travel rules on pregnancy didn't apply. My mother, petite and unassuming, escaped scrutiny with her tent-like dress. For some reason, the Air Force allowed her to accompany my father on assignment. Perhaps it was our Italian-sounding surname. Somehow, it was a passport to inaccessible areas. My mother's screams at childbirth upstaged the din of the C130's engines. This, together with my caterwauling, formed the backdrop of my entry into existence. Perhaps this was why I despised any sound above a certain decibel. Whenever I complained of loudness, regardless of the source, my mother would remind me of how I came into the world: “From noise you came, and to noise you will return.” Thus did I return. A life-altering event prompted me to revisit the land of my parents. I thought I'd stay a month, just long enough to tie up loose ends. Alas, offshoots materialized, forcing me to stay. Initially, I was happy to be here, having reconnected with friends and extended family. Now that I'm stuck here, I've ceased discovering pleasant things and have instead focused on annoyances. What I can't understand is the residents' affinity with noise. It's all-encompassing, yet no one seems to notice. Maybe you think I'm inflexible or used to living in fancy, quiet ‘First World' cocoons. But I've visited developing countries. This is, by far, one of the noisiest. Fortunately, my host lives in the suburbs—where I ensconce myself. I knew what this area was like 20 years ago. But it turned into a city. With this new status came progress—along with shopping malls, people, traffic, crime, and pollution. You would expect the noise to proliferate just in the primary city, not in ‘ex-burbs'. But it seemed the generators of noise got tired of subjugating the capital to its malevolence, and turned its sights instead to the formerly peaceful spot where I'm forced to park my hide. It starts with roosters crowing in the morning, followed by dogs barking, people talking/arguing, motorcycle engines rumbling. Late morning brings in blasts of music from amplifiers owned by neighbors dissatisfied with ordinary speakers; they MUST have turbo. Equally virulent is the venom of the traveling boombox in a tricycle. The driver, enamored with his favorite ditty, would crank up the volume for everyone to hear. Thankfully, midday provides a lull in the cacophony. Naptime for noise-mongers. I schedule my most important activities during this period. My rooster friends, however, manage to cackle in. I thought they only crowed at dawn or early mornings. Here, they squawk and scream at all hours. Is there a pattern? Nope. It could be 4 am, noon, or midnight. That blasted crowing would pierce into the darkness or the heat of the sun. Utter disregard for the clock. Why do the locals love roosters so much? Back home, there are zoning laws. You can't raise farm animals in residential areas. They're confined to the countryside and appropriate businesses. I searched for an explanation. Apparently, cockfighting is legal here. Roosters aren't just pets. They're worth a lot of money if successful in the ring. In the evening, reverberation from a microphone would signal in the most vexatious noise of all: karaoke time. Most singers are out of tune. Singing would go on until dawn. Later, the country's leader issued a no-karaoke rule after 10 pm. My sigh of relief was short-lived. People just ignored the law. Friend #1 had a karaoke bar for a neighbor. Singing went beyond curfew. One day, she couldn't take it anymore. Time to see if the law upholds. She called the municipality anonymously, citing the neighbor. The next day, the bar was closed down. Triumph! After listening to one of my tirades, Friend #2 remarked, “Maybe you should live in a cemetery.” She was being mean, of course, but I actually considered living in a mausoleum—a result of attempts to escape the noise. Alas, during my visit to the country's most prestigious memorial park, my ears were assaulted by sounds from lawnmowers, digging machines, and construction. This is one place you won't rest in peace. I thought of moving to the countryside. “Huh-uh. More chickens,” Friend #3 advised. “Why not try a monastery?” So I begged a priest-friend to take me in, offering rent. But he said, in order to live with the religious, you have to join them. Permanently. Yikes! Perhaps it was poverty. Making noise was a way to drive out demons, forget problems. For most of the populace, this was probably true. But these neighbors aren't poor. Theirs is a middle-class enclave. Maybe some people are just inconsiderate. Silence is golden. I still believe that. But I decided to make the ultimate sacrifice: give up the fight. You see, the event that led me here was the death of my mother and brother. Now alone, Father refuses to budge. His enemy is silence, not noise. For him, I will embrace my adversary.

Good Evening Everyone! I hope you like the picture. This is my little guy Bonzo. He is 4 years old and very smart. He's very loving and compassionate towards me. He is quite the tea lover (Earl Grey and English Breakfast seem to be his favorites)and soon he will meet his new mate D'Aff N'aia. I am hoping to get her through the summer sometime and will surely post when she's here. I can't wait for her. She will be spoiled too! Best Regards, Julie Ann

My father and I convinced my mother to let us get a puppy when I was five, not that it was a long shot; she'd read an article about instilling a deeper sense of compassion in only children by getting them pets. Soon enough, I had a little adopted brother who would grow up with me, without whom I could not imagine my life. One of my earliest memories with him is of the time I wanted to take him on a walk but could find neither his leash nor my parents to tell me where it was. As a last resort, on a childish whim, I scooped him up and paced on the street for a couple of minutes. I think he fell asleep in my arms. Between the two of us, he had the social gene. As he grew older, he became a neighbourhood favourite. We wouldn't worry if he wasn't home, because it meant that he was at his best friend's (a golden retriever who lived up the street), with my father at his office, or at some neighbour's house. When my grandmother held singing sessions with her friends at our house, they sat in a circle in the living room and he would insist on being at the centre of the music and excitement- then he would fall asleep in it. He loved car rides almost as much as he loved people, so we had plenty together. My mother would joke that we really were siblings because of the way I complained as he nudged me off the back seat every few minutes. I know she was right. I can tell by the way it felt to lose him. In the middle of the year's final exams, I was at dinner when I heard a yelp. I rushed outside to see my puppy limping towards the gate. His vet said that it could just be a sprain or a fracture in the hind leg, and he was taken to the hospital the next morning for an X-Ray. I wasn't told that they would also scan him to check for cancer, so without worrying too much, thinking all he would need was a cast, I said goodbye and left to write the day's exam. On the drive back home, my mother revealed to me that he had just been diagnosed with Osteosarcoma- bone cancer. He wouldn't walk again. I resolved to cry it out in the car and hold it together in front of him. I didn't want to add to the fear I knew he would already be feeling. I failed miserably- when I saw him, my composure crumbled in a matter of seconds. I couldn't let that happen again, because I thought he might need strength from me when his own failed. We tried to behave normally in front of him for the rest of his time with us. There were so many heart wrenching decisions to make. We considered chemotherapy, but decided against it. He was already eleven years old. The process would postpone his death by a mere few months, and it would prolong his pain. He had about three months left, but there was so much life in him. He smiled, ate, drank, and wagged his tail. He got excited when his favourite people came to see him. Some days, I'd wonder if he really did have cancer. He couldn't walk, but he wouldn't stay put. He would drag himself around on three legs as if it caused him no pain at all. We couldn't leave him alone; he'd call for someone to sit with him if he was left by himself for a moment. I stayed with him until we both had to sleep- it was for me just as much as it was for him. My parents stayed with him at night, my father sleeping downstairs, ready to be with him if he woke up and called. Each night I'd pray, selfishly, that he wouldn't be gone by morning. Yet, as he slowly grew worse- a tumour beginning to show on his leg, the light in his eyes fading, his appetite decreasing- I began to pray for him to die naturally. It destroyed me to pray so desperately for something that I couldn't have borne to think about a few months earlier. Why did the one who deserved pain the least have to face the most? Why not a quiet, painless death of old age a few years later? God may have had a reason, but I did not know it, so I was livid. In the end, we had to put him to sleep. He died surrounded by people he loved- his parents, sister, grandmother, grandfather, vet, and favourite neighbour. His head was on our mother's lap, and I stroked his head and told him I loved him. I wish I hadn't cried. The grief was not short lived. It has been over a year since he passed, but I miss him just the same. I still expect to see him waiting at the open gate for our car to return, I still glance over at his usual corners from time to time, I still wonder at the lack of fallen fur on the floor in summer. Although the pain is plenty and will not go away, it is very easily overshadowed by the memories I hold dear, the happiness I get from them, and the love I will always have for my little brother. Each second with him was worth everything.

The most beautiful moments of my life are the ones nobody sees. God has called me to see the sacred in the ordinary. From ripe, round, unbearably red strawberries in a simple pottery bowl to spindly curvy palm trees arching into a perfect Hawaiian sky or speckled-belly puppies lying on their backs under a hot Georgia sun, if I choose (and I do choose) to see with my heart as well as my eyes, I get to watch the common transform into the holy. I am one girl, one woman, one daughter, one mother. I have lived this incredible lifetime of memories, choices, gains and losses. Sometimes I wish I'd accomplished more: written my bestselling book, won the Pulitzer, made more money, acquired more possessions. I wish I'd become famous for something meaningful, helped to eradicate a disease, saved a life, or invented something really, really cool. In those times, when I'm thinking that way, I feel a little foolish. What is my life about? Why was I here? And, in some cases, what was I thinking? But, God reminds me. He made me with one purpose: I am here to bear witness. And I take that charge seriously, with great reverence and gratitude for that which I am privileged to see. Like the connection between my daughter, a homeless man and me in front of a Costa Mesa diner. A disheveled man with bright blue eyes in a sun-beaten face, whose name is Kevin. Who connected with my brand newly 26 year old daughter Zoe and me. The one who said, "I was just wondering what to do about dinner" when we offered him a burrito, uneaten, with a clean fork, knife, napkin, and a gorgeous fruit juice. I looked at him and took him straight into my heart. We will never see each other again but Kevin is a part of me now and I am a part of him and that is because God showed him to me, and me to him. Our hearts met because we could see. Like the nights - so many of them - when I leaned, exhausted after a long shift at the hospital, and stared down at my three daughters, sleeping in their little beds. I drank in the sight of them, lying there with their tousled hair and the innocence of sleep dusting their beautiful small faces. It was hard, lonely and scary being a single mom but every time I looked at my girls, my heart cracked wide open and new strength flowed through my tired veins, giving me life to keep going one more day - for them. Like when my parents' house was leveled by a tornado and I watched my 82 year old father searching through rubble for pieces of the 70-year-old train set he's had since his father gave it to him when Papa was 12. That strong man, that beautiful heart, that frail body, bent and weak after twin heart attacks, a stroke, and heart surgery less than a year ago...his will, his courage, his beauty shone like a bright light over all the broken bricks, splintered wood, uprooted tree trunks. Like the way God made me a Pied Piper of animals, mine and other people's and strays. I love them all the same. Ruffy, the tiny toy poodle who became my love, the son I never had, the husband I should have had! Ruffy, who became my dearest companion for the next eleven years til he died at 18. I think Ruffy is still with me. How could he be gone? I feel his presence. I loved him then and I will love him always. Thank you, Dillie, for being his first mom and for allowing me to be his last. And Molly, Beau, Dearie, Goldie, Sadie, Peter Criss, Lily, Sophie, Nahla, Ollie. To every animal I have ever seen wandering the streets, I pray each time that you will be safe, fed, protected. I give you food if I can. I love you. I see you. I see squirrels darting, raccoons scooting, deer leaping across roads and I pray to God for you to make it, and for you to live long lives, free from hunters and fast cars. You matter because I see you. We are all living souls. Like the one who gave life to me, my strong honest God-fearing mother. I watch her raising her grandchildren. She is 74 years old. Every morning she gets up and takes three kids to school. Every night she stays up late, getting clothes washed and lunches ready. I see you, Mama. I see your tiredness, your fear, your weariness and I also see your surviving spirit, your strong beating heart, your wisdom that goes on forever. Like the beauty of humanity: people making human chains to save one dog, a woman giving her life to save her child's, people of faith sacrificing for their beliefs, one homeless man giving his coat to a homeless child. This life is a gift to us from God. That's what I believe. You don't have to believe that way. One thing we all need to do, though, is find a way to bear witness. If we don't, it will go away. And we, as a people, will have lost out on an entire universe of honest, simple, ordinary, common moments that are actually magical, beautiful, wondrous, glorious, sacred, and holy.

My life is so weird. It's always been weird. That's probably because I was born in 1949, the 3rd child of a family that wanted to stop at two. I was constantly told that I was worthless and was always costing my family money. In those days, children had no social security numbers and if somebody had the right connections they could sell an unwanted child in a black market adoption or even worse, sexual slavery. I think I was three at the time but my parents left me with the baby-sitter on Christmas. The baby-sitter, I found out later from my older sister was also the contact for back-street abortions and black-market adoptions. The babysitter who was an older woman, left me alone with a book filled with Christmas stickers. In those days, there was no self-stick stickers. You had to lick them glued back to make them work. This was the first time I was away from my parents and I was scared. My anxiety increased as I stuck stickers everywhere, hoping my parents would return soon and be proud of my handiwork. Instead a young couple arrived. I remember the woman had long blonde hair and a red dress under her fur coat. My babysitter picked me up so she could hold me when all that anxiety and glue backed up on me and I threw up all over her red dress. She yelled something like "How dare you give me a sick baby!" and pushed me back into the babysitter's arms. I was put into a crib in a dark room after a lot of angry talk and I stayed there until my parents picked me up. I don't remember much of what happened next, but I was very sick because the next thing I knew was that I was in a hospital, being stuck with needles by angry nurses. The story I heard later in life was that my parents left me with the baby-sitter so they could attend my sister's Christmas pagent and was sick with something that was called "glandular fever." My mother said I spent eight days in the hospital. The first seven days I was given sulfa drugs that had little effect on my sickness. The end of that week, the doctor told my parents that he could give me a new drug that was still largely experimental, but my father would have to sign a permission slip because the new drug could cure me or kill me. My father signed the paper and they gave me another giant needle of the new drug. That night I flew. I flew around the hospital. I saw what looked like a woman having an operation. I saw lines of cars and trucks on the roads outside. Finally, I was back in my crib I was coloring in a coloring book and throwing crayons back and forth over the tops of our cribs which lay head to head with a kid named Mikey. The next day, I stood up in my crib and tried to see over the huge wooden top, but I was too short. When the nurses came in, I asked where Mikey was. The younger nurse burst into tears and said "Mikey's dead!" I went home that day. When my mother told that part of the story to my sister and me, she asked "Guess what that medicine was?" We shook our heads. "Penicillin." Our life was rough after that. My father had a successful machine shop but he drank all his profits. My mother took in ironing. Later, I found out she was also turning tricks. When she wanted to insult me, she'd tell me I was "just like my father." For a long time I wondered what she meant by that because weren't we supposed to be like our parents? It wasn't until much later that I found out about the visiting "insurance men." We had dogs but the one assigned to me suddenly disappeared. My mother said it was all my fault because I didn't take care of her and she ran away. Years later my sister told me that she wasn't going to keep a female dog that wasn't spayed. The male dog was never the same. He always kept to himself and never wanted to play. My mother did some darker things to try to "turn me out" but I was too defensive and would say I'd jump out into traffic before I'd go along with that scheme. And I said it while in a moving car going down the Long Island Expressway. My parents bad habits were backing up on them. I got into constant fights at school. Nobody wanted to be my friend. My mother kept trying to get into the local social scene by joining a church but the gossip got about and she was shunned. I was shunned too. Finally, my father lost his temper one last time and decided to move from New York to Florida. In Florida, he bought a bar and had my mother help him run it. I had always wondered why they stayed together for so long. She said it was because he was the only man who offered to marry her. I always wondered why a man would stay with a woman who fooled around. I found out later, he fooled around, too--with other men. The whole marriage thing was one big made-for-social-acceptance sham. My mother liked playing the diva at the bar and my father spent a lot of his spare time fishing. My brother only stayed for the first month when he turned 21 and flew back to New York to stay with friends until he got a place of his own.

addiction əˈdɪkʃ(ə)n/ noun the fact or condition of being addicted to a particular substance or activity. Never before have I felt anything like it. It haunts my dreams and waking days, invades my thoughts and pulls on my emotions. It runs through my veins like a drug, awakens my senses and causes me to do things that ultimately go against my personality. What could do such a thing you ask? Well, the answer is what you would least expect. Dog shows. I look down the metro car and sigh. My ministry team sits on both sides of me, conversing about things amongst themselves. All unimportant to me. I should be preparing and going over my Sunday School lesson, but all I can do is stare blankly down the metro. The rocking of the car under me brings me back to the three months I spent working for a professional dog handling couple before coming here to school in Hungary. I close my eyes again and imagine balancing myself in the crowded RV I spent the majority of my time in, brewing a cup of coffee in the moving vehicle and setting it in the cup holder for my employer. I can see the winding American highway out the front window of the RV and I can't help but smile sadly. What I would give to do it all over again. Six weeks. I keep reminding myself, that in just a short while I can. My smile widens. I have already decided exactly what I want to do when I get back home. I want a large order of biscuits and gravy from The Dixie Cafe and I want to groom a yorkshire terrier. Anyone's yorkie. Well, any dog actually. As long as I can groom something, I think I'd be happy, just to get my hands on a pin brush and hair dryer again. I sigh again as the metro comes to a stop at Keleti Station and I exit behind with my team. I straighten my back pack and round the corner and get on the escalator. Six weeks. Just you wait. I'll be back and ready for anything. -AJC