Colleagues,
I think late fall is my favorite time of year. The leaves are off the trees, bugs are hiding, the pale yellowish-beige of dead grass mixes with the remnants of fiery red and bright orange leaf litter. Thanksgiving! As a kid I spent a memorable share of my formative years in northwest Minnesota. Where the great plains from North Dakota mingle with a blend of conifers and deciduous hardwoods among lakes and wetlands. 4^th grade holds particular memories of dark winter mornings and 5am half mile walks to the Northern Lights Church, with my older sister, where we met the first of our 3 busses to get us to school. We carried big sticks that we’d hide in the ditch for the journey home to fend off the other cabin on our lake’s dog, Bull, a nasty German Shepherd. But some of my fondest thoughts from there lie with the Black Lab, Chassé (like the dance), and Golden Retriever, Rufus I lived with and the long weekends we spent in the wild. Growing up my mom had read to us “Where the Red Fern Grows”. No spoilers (as if anyone doesn’t already know) but the power of that book still has a hold on me today. Back then, as we roamed the woods around the lakes, and across the fields, there was no doubt in my mind I was the 1991 version of the boy in that book. One day Rufus fell and couldn’t get up. I watched him be taken away and I never saw him again. Thankfully Chassé didn’t die of a broken heart otherwise I may have succumbed as well. Our adventures continued until I moved away from her the next year. She went on to have a litter of puppies that I got to visit once. Shortly thereafter she was stolen.  No doubt she was the best bird dog for the undeserving creature who claimed her. Certainly, my time there played a role in my pursuit to become a veterinarian.

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