The Lesson of the Clothespin: Refusing to Discard the Broken Things in a Throwaway Culture

it as proof that the dog was defective.

But I looked at the rug. It was just fabric. Mass-produced, synthetic fabric.

I looked at the dog. He was a living soul who had waited for me, unsure if I would return, terrified that I was just another person who would trade him in for a better model.

I sat down on the floor. “It’s okay, buddy,” I said. “We can continue reading …