After walking up Bear Peak this afternoon, I’m sitting on the floor with Emily and Samwise. They’ve finished their dinner, and I’m spending quality time with a Mason Jar of iced green tea. As I type, each of them is looking at me with keen interest. No, they don’t care what I’m writing. It’s time for their bones with the frozen peanut butter. Desert.
With two energetic souls in my life, it’s interesting to contemplate where I was when Atticus and I came north to where I am now. I think so many people expect me to be missing Atticus, to be still mourning him. But what’s to mourn? My friend led the fullest of lives, had adventures and experiences, was happy, and touched hundreds of thousands of people. Hell, he even received a standing ovation from Emmylou Harris and the rest of the folks at the JFK Presidential Library the night he shared the MSPCA’s Human Hero Award with me. The night Atticus died, the state of New Hampshire found out on the television.
In those final moments when I …
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