Rest in peace, our beautiful girl.

It was 1975. Hot, sticky, and the kind of summer afternoon where the air barely moved and even the flies seemed to give up trying. My younger brother Adam and I were on the front patio, plastic cups of red Kool-Aid in hand. Not the fancy new juice boxes or pouches kids have now—just straight-from-the-pitcher,…

Every horse I’ve ever known has had two jobs—calming me when I’m stressed and stressing me when I’m calm. That might sound like a contradiction, but anyone who’s ever spent time around a horse knows exactly what I mean. Take Fancy, for instance. She was a chestnut mare with a blonde mane that always looked…

Every summer, right about the time the air smells like hot dust and basil, I find myself knee-deep in tomatoes. It starts innocently enough with a few plants—Roma, Amish Paste, and the ever-bragging Goliath—but by July, they’re cranking out fruit faster than I can mutter “caprese salad” under my breath. Now, I’ve done the old-school…

When I was a boy, I asked the preacher if dogs went to Heaven. He gave me a long answer that included a few verses, some metaphors, and a lot of shrugging. I took that as a “probably not,” which didn’t sit right then and doesn’t sit any better now. See, I’ve known dogs better…

There’s a fine line between eccentric and institutionalized, and I’ve spent most of my adult life doing cartwheels right on top of it. Some folks call it “marching to the beat of your own drum.” I say I’m just lucky nobody’s snatched the drumsticks out of my hands and handed me a padded roommate named…

I’ve always tried to be open-minded about food. I ate bugs on a dare in middle school, chewed raw garlic during a brief, misguided health kick in my thirties, and once even tried something called “nutritional yeast,” which tasted like an old library book. But nothing—nothing—has challenged my taste buds and moral convictions like cilantro.…

When the Trump administration took back the White House from Biden, a bunch of folks I know expected the Department of Justice to come roaring out like a pack of bloodhounds on the scent—law officers in suits, talking tough and playing hardball, just like that old Law & Order: SVU show. I even joked they…

Now, I don’t want to say I’m a lazy playwright, but I once wrote a one-act play about Helen Keller. She just sat in a chair and said nothing because, well, she was blind, deaf, and mute. Some called it avant-garde. Others called it offensive. I called it finished. It was during a short-lived period…

I once knew a man who ran for Lieutenant Governor of Nevada every election cycle, and by “ran,” I mean he slapped his photo on a glossy magazine, parked himself outside the Union Brewery, and campaigned to the tourists stepping off the trolley. His name ain’t important, but if you believe half of what he…