Tomorrow will mark a year since I had my stroke. It's an occasion that, according to my daughter, Ginny, I should view as important. But I've spent enough time staring at death; I don't want to think
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It wasn't fair. EJ had found him, brought him home, set up a comfy, warm bed of hay in the basement; she'd even named him. But from our first encounter on that cold January night, Mister Peepers only
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