Bessie has lived her entire life in fear.
Well, maybe that’s not entirely correct, but she’s at least lived her life just on the edge of fear. She can go from relaxed and happy to tense and terrified in a split second. She’s not just scared of people who might try to hurt her. She’s even scared of the one person in the world who’s fed her and taken care of her for two and a half years — me.
I wrote about Bessie’s sister, Molly, last week. You can read that story if you’d like, because most of it applied to Bessie, too.

Six months after her death, I like to believe Lucy is waiting for me
Advocates of ‘limited government’ are the true utopian dreamers
After first six podcast episodes, I’m encouraged but still a rookie
If we’re seduced by our desires, we often follow devil in disguise
They’re just images of past love, but I can’t make them go away
Attaining excellence may require some time in painful mediocrity
Obama: ‘…all the choices we’ve made have been the right ones…’
Without hope for a better future, depression grabs us by the throat