By CARY NEEPER
Formerly of Los Alamos
It was Christmas 1940, I think, when Ma and Pa handed to my brother and me a small rope. They told us to follow it to the living room. Before we got that far, a wiggly ball of brown, white, and blond fur came rolling toward us, teased the rope from our hands, and cleaned our faces with tiny licks.
We named her Boots, for her white hind feet and front paws. That was the beginning of my life with animals. It was also the beginning of my understanding of the importance of friendship. Every morning on my way to Fairview School, I trudged up the hill to the Arnold’s Read More