Nothing like: a “you’re stable” report from the good people at Presbyterian oncology, three years out from treatment; a celebratory shredded beef burrito with green chile at the Range afterward; returning home to Cowboy and my books with a view up the camino of thunderheads rising to the north. I will savor those parts of …

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This really is about me and not my 19-month-old dog, but sometimes I think my self-knowledge might not be much deeper than his. I have been struggling lately with too much news and a lost appetite for fiction.   You see, I grew up thinking I would be a fiction writer. But my newspaperman instincts …

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