When a Scruffy Little Dog Refused to Let an Old Woman Disappear

return address was from three states away.

Inside, nestled in tissue paper, were dozens of handmade cards. Some with crayon scribbles clearly drawn by kids. Some with shaky cursive. One with a typed page that began, “Dear Clara, you don’t know me…”

By the end of the week, the mail stack in the back office had turned into a tower. Letters. Packages. A continue reading …