My sister, Jeanie, died when I was a boy. Fell off the monkey bars and broke her neck. And my mother, well, my foster mother, she blamed herself, of course. She thought she wasn't watching close enough. So, she stopped eating, stopped sleeping. The neighbors started talking, afraid she might do something to herself, I guess. [Sipping coffee] Oh, that's good. Anyway, about 6 months after Jeanie's funeral, this golden retriever comes padding up our driveway, walks right into our house, sits down on the floor, and looks right at my mother, there on the couch. And my mother looks back at the dog. After about a minute of this, of them both staring at each other like that, my mother burst into tears. Beautiful dog, no tags, no collar, healthy, and sweet. The dog slept in Jeanie's old room, on Jeanie's old bed and stayed with us until my mother passed 5 years later. Then, disappeared back to wherever it was she came from in the first place.
So, you're saying the dog was your sister?
Well, that would be silly. But my mother thought it was, thought that Jeanie had come back to tell her the accident wasn't her fault, let her off the hook.
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