Was it a trick of birth that I'm not one of them? Was I unlucky in the cards destiny dealt? Perhaps there is a God or Gods in some celestial plane or atop a mountain or at the end of a rainbow bridge charting out my future. Perhaps its Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos spinning, dispensing and cutting the thread of my fate. Determining my allotment of suffering and success with a fairly impartial regard. What if I am but ones and zeros embedded in a fiction of some superior intelligence's design? My existence could be the result of any or none of these. Perhaps there really is nothing and all is chaos.
I have not been in my mother's keeping since I was seven years old. I can count on one hand the brief encounters I've had with her since that time. It's been twelve years since my last actual look at her person and eleven years since I've heard the rasp of her voice.
Six years ago my husband and I were lucky enough to be dog-mom and dog-dad to a very special dog named Chevy. From the moment we met her we knew something was very different with her. She was afraid of everything and incredibly anxious. We knew she would need lots of patience and love.
He has done one of the hardest things an author can do. He's made me love and hate, fear for and cheer, fall in love and then lose it all. He has made me feel. No greater deed can be done than to appeal to what make's us human.