So there you are, walking through the librayr with a copy of John Grisham in one hand, Terry Pratchet in the other about to ask the cute librarian behind the corner which one they like better so you can seem worldly, when you see out of the corner of your eye a kid talking to a dog.
A child. In the library. Reading a book. To a dog.
The world, she is a strange and mysterious place where shit gets real on a daily basis. None so more getting shitty real than at the library in Duluth, where Carolyn Sturdevant brings her Shetland sheepdogs to the library. The dogs have been trained as "therapy dogs," namely to sit there and be cute, cuddly and make people believe something in this world does not wish them to die like a Superman who would create and destroy lives at a whim.
We just hope the kids are not complete trolling douchebags, reading Old Yeller, Where the Red Fern Grows and Marley and Me to the dogs. Spoiler Alert, those books do not end well for the canines, so much so you wonder what level the asshole author's now reside in hell after giving millions of children hellish lives where they refuse to connect with anyone or thing on a deep level knowing one day the decision to end that relationship with a shotgun may happen, metaphorically or not.