The air is full of spices

I'm going to start this newsletter with a cute animal pic, and a story about the dog featured in it. My first big immersion story was about Owsley County, Kentucky, one of the poorest counties in the country. After a busy Christmas break, during which I finished a magazine feature and a book review, I packed up a month's worth of stuff, loaded it into a rental car, and drove to Booneville, the small town where I'd be staying. During the drive, I got delayed by snow. I was in a little Chevy on mountain highways, alone with the snowplows. Because Google maps is more concerned with direct routes than conditions on the ground, it took me along twisty, turny, spindly little roads I had no business driving on. I thought I was going to die.

I arrived at to meet the real estate agent through whom I'd gotten a furnished trailer to live in for two months late, at about 9:30 p.m., in front of the Dollar General. He drove down a back road to my new house with me following, and when we pulled up onto the hilly driveway he said, "I think you have a dog." A beautiful black lab was in the back, looking suspiciously and wagging her tail, darting forward occasionally to smell us, and then heading back into the shadows. I got to know her. We bonded. My dad's dog, Puppy, had died a few months before, and I wanted a new one in my life. For a week, I called her Milo, because there was a little doghouse on a hill behind the trailer with that name painted on it. I thought she was a stray. The first Saturday I was there, the trailer's owners drove by and brought a big bag of food. They did that once a week, and left her to feed herself. She was so excited when they pulled up it broke my heart. I found out her name was Daisy, that she hung out at the empty trailer, and that her owners couldn't take her to their small apartment. By the end of two months, she was mine. I called my mom and said, "I'm going to ask you a question, but you can't say no." And I arranged to take her to Arkansas, where I thought she'd be happy. The owner told me she was 9, which made her about 63 in dog years and I thought, "That's good. She and my mom will hit retirement age about the same time."

I didn't know it, but Daisy was pregnant. She had two puppies under my mom's porch. Now my mom has two big black labs in her front yard. Mom wrote me an email this week to tell me Daisy had figured out her electric collar wasn't working and was roaming around the neighborhood. That's how I met Daisy, an itinerant dog who dared to prance down the middle of any country road like she owned it. I hope she enjoyed her momentary freedom, but for her own sake she's confined to my mom's yard again.

Cute animal pic of the week:

Daisy, when I first met her in Kentucky.

What I'm Reading:

I have a lot of feelings about men at women's colleges. This is what developing acute schizophrenia is like. An interview with Atul Gawande about his new book on the ends of our lives. On what the dying really regret. This new book by one of my favorite writers, Katha Pollitt, is inspiring all sorts of women to talk about their abortions. Here is one of my favorite essays inspired by it.

What I'm Also Reading:

California Sunday Magazine.

What I'm Recommending:

Kale salad and pumpkin cider. Happy fall!