January 18, 2003
During thunderstorms, Poco would try to crawl under the bed, but only his head and front paws would fit beneath the low-slung frame. Ludicrous as it appeared to us, the ostrich approach obviously provided him some measure of comfort. These days, with the winds of war rattling up a storm of sabres in a clatter of clichés, I find myself averting my eyes from the headlines, tuning out the hourly news and declining invitations to discuss the issues. I don’t think being in the dark makes me feel safe; I just don’t know that knowing stuff makes that much difference.