Newspaper Page Text
Now opened and cherished
To the final page.
Faces on a screen,
Some familiar,
Others new.
Voices of my students,
Smiles on their faces,
Fears in their letters,
Solace in their strength.
Gratitude for everyone -
For every small and subtle thing.
In any other time,
Once taken for granted,
In 2020—
Life-giving,
Like breathing itself.
When the world reprises,
And these lyrics no longer play,
May I never forget,
How grateful I am—
For every single small and precious thing,
For every person.
For being alive.
Miracle on South
Lumpkin Street
By Jill Hartmann-Roberts
At 8 a.m. on Sunday, June 8, 2014,1 pondered
whether or not to drive to Memorial Park. I
loved walking the path around the lake and
watching ducks and geese swimming and waddling on
the shore. I could drive a quarter-mile down the road and
use the treadmill instead. I was about to turn left at the
stop sign and head to the gym when I suddenly changed
my mind, turned right and headed in the direction of
Memorial Park.
That split second change of heart changed a life.
When I reached the intersection of South Lumpkin
Street and Gran Ellen Drive, I spotted a wolf-like dog run
ning loose back and forth across the busy road. I instinc
tively parked my car, turned on my flashers, and went after
the dog. She disappeared into some bushes and re-emerged
with a tree branch. When she saw me moving toward her,
she dropped the branch, sprinted toward me, jumped up on
me with her front paws—at which point I noticed she had
no collar—and then she dashed away again before I could
grab her. She raced down the road and into another bush.
I kept calling, “Come here, baby. It’s OK.” Within seconds,
I saw the telltale rustling of leaves. She bolted toward me
again, and this time, when I reached out to pet her, she
stayed put. I quickly opened the rear passenger door of my
car, patted the cushion, and invited the dog to jump into
the car. She hesitated, and I reassured her, “It’s OK. Don’t
worry. Come on.” Something in my eyes must have told her
it was safe, because she jumped into the back seat. As soon
as I closed the door behind her, she climbed up so she could
see through the rear window and started barking her head
off in a screeching, high-pitched tone.
Driving away, I wasn’t sure what to do with this
stray dog now that I had her safely in my car. She had a
healthy-looking blue-gray fur coat, highlighted with streaks
of brown and white, especially on her underbelly. She had
one brown eye and one blue eye, which was as brilliant as a
glowing planet.
I called my husband from the car as the dog began freak
ing out, jumping to the front, climbing up onto the dash
board, and barking ferociously at every car that passed us.
We put her in the backyard, while setting up an indoor
enclosure in the kitchen to keep her separated from our
small dogs, Lizzie and Reggie.
For the next two weeks, we experienced a wild ride of
fostering this dog, whom I named Betty. We discovered
that she was a deaf blue heeler puppy with a microchip, but
when the owner was called to retrieve his dog, he didn’t
want her back. It turned out that Betty’s owner had pur
posely abandoned her on South Lumpkin, claiming she was
too much work for him.
In the end, we found a forever home for Betty with a
family in Columbus, GA, who had a male red heeler named
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I DON’T ALWAYS DRINK ALCOHOL
BUT WHEN I DO, I DON T SHARE WITH MINORS
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