This year I’ve gone to more vet appointments than I can count. I guess I could count them, flip back through calendar pages and tally up appointments for tests and surgery and treatments and more tests.
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I sit in the garden and watch the robins taking turns on the nest in the birch tree. The nest is perched in a crotch of branches high above my patio. It doesn’t look very secure, but I’ve watched it hold tight when its windy. One robin swoops to the branch and the other plunges away. A few minutes later they switch. And switch again.
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