Quarrels with Dogs in the Dead of Night, Part III (Conclusion)
This is the part of the story where it gets scary - for me, at least, not for you, because you weren’t there, fortunately, you’re just reading this and experiencing my misadventures vicariously. But you already have enough worries of your own without me startling you with incredibly well-expressed anecdotes about bears.
Quarrels with Dogs in the Dead of Night, Part II
My dog has tried to kill me on ninety-three occasions, and I'm not including that one time in Montreal because her heart just wasn't in it. Don't get me wrong - Chloé is not in the least bit bitey, and no doubt she considers violence too artless, pedestrian and vulgar for her tastes.
Quarrels with Dogs in the Dead of Night, Part I
So in October last year I found myself knowing that I was, yet again, about a month away from needing to rent a reliable Tauntaun simply to get over to the shops, and it made me really annoyed suddenly. I felt a bit frantic, to be honest. I kept going outside as often as I could - not merely to seize the day, but to hug it desperately for all its lingering warmth. That's why I decided to take my dog hiking in New Hampshire.
The Rat Lieutenant is Dead
I don't know why mental health professionals had warned me against ever taking a position of authority because I found it quite bracing. A few things had bothered me, like Harvard's strict rules about not throwing furniture at the people who report to you, no matter how much they might have it coming to them, but any job from which you leave of your own accord instead of being carted out by security can be chalked up as a success in my mind.
So Farewell To All That
I once had a job at Harvard fixing computers. That's not the part that is difficult to explain - well, yes, alright, it's difficult to explain how, with all things considered, I got to be there of all places, but that's another matter - the difficulty lies with telling you what I'm doing now.