Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
The young Walmart cashier looked at me from across her counter. She had just finished ringing up my underpants when she recited my total from the register screen.
I reached into my pocket to pay.
The little boy was already on this plane when we boarded. He has a backpack bigger than he is. And a stuffed animal. He is maybe seven years old.
We passengers can hear him talking to anyone within earshot. He is loud. He is chatty. He does not use an indoor voice.
The kid is nothing but friendly.
It’s a mess, that’s what it is. When you land in Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta Third World International Airport, you’re walking into a battle zone.
His name is Callum. He is a Labrador. He is brown. He has a little white developing around his snout. All the best dogs have white on their snouts.
A little girl rescued a turtle from a busy highway. This happened yesterday afternoon. Moving a turtle is not a remarkable sight, really. It happens every day, somewhere in the world. Somewhere in the known universe, a rural kid moves a turtle off the highway. I have been that kid myself. Many times. Maybe you …
It was a big park. A big city. The man was sitting on the sidewalk. Directly on the ground. And he was barefoot.
I was on the way to the shed. Walking through the yard. I saw something in the grass. It was fluttering in the weeds. I could see its wings.
“I’ve never met a blind dog before,” said the little boy. And thus began a powerful conversation while I served as a “seeing-eye” human for Marigold.