A New Love: Meeting Monk
In 1987, my beautiful English cocker died of liver cancer. He was 14 years old. He left me shortly after my mother’s death, the death of my dearest cousin, and in the midst of my divorce. To say the least, it was a difficult year. I was single in New York City, working for peanuts at a nonprofit and trying to finish a master’s degree. I lived in a fourth-floor walk-up, and my dog could no longer make it up the stairs. I was also very poor. The thought of getting another dog, as much as I had loved this one, was beyond consideration. I mourned Troubles for many years, twenty to be exact. Every dog I met would launch me into the story of my deceased English cocker. People listened politely, even sympathetically, until they would finally ask, “Why don’t you get...
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