Bonnie and Clyde Files 43

I sat at the table with Jacque, sanctuary founder and Marilyn, a sanctuary board member. Eleven dogs circled around us, including Bonnie and Clyde. Clyde whimpered for treats so I produced one from my pocket and fed him discreetly under the table. He wasn’t so discreet about gobbling it up.

“It all looks good to me,” I said.

I signed the contract to write grants for the sanctuary. It was treats all around! A chorus of barks, yips and yaps went up from the dogs.

It was my first official job in almost two years. I had applied for almost 90 others, most of them in the ever-expanding racket of online education delivered by corporations that seeks nothing less than the end to face-to-face instruction, the end of humanity in teaching.

In recent months, I have come to believe that face-to-face interaction is the only way to save Oregon, America, or the world that matter. Face to face with humans, dogs, elk, birds and flowers and trees if flowers and trees can be said to have faces.

My contract was only for 30 days and a thousand bucks, but it was the best work imaginable and would enable me to unleash everything in my editorial arsenal to raise funds for the sanctuary. One good fresh quote about dogs inserted into a grant might do the trick. I have many to choose from.

I stood up from the table and shook Jacque’s and Marilyn’s hands. I thanked them for giving me a shot. I walked out into the yard and Bonnie and Clyde followed me. We took our walk along the river under metal skies and I began writing the first dog grant in my mind, right there. And it only got better when it started to rain, which it did. I was walking with dogs and writing dog grants in rain.

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