Stephen Neigher

The first time I can remember seeing someone with a hole in his or her body that the Lord had not put there, was when I was a three-year-old boy in Springfield Massachusetts.

That’s me. Some years ago I was told by my doctor that I should have my kidneys ultra-sounded or something that sounded like that because she had noticed a small trace of blood in my urine.

When I was a little boy, we used to go down to the Connecticut shore every summer. My parents would rent a modest cottage a few blocks from the beach and we’d have a ball. Relatives joined us, as well as yearly returnees from all over New England.

If you’re anything at all like me, you’re probably sick of people who love to go on and on about their dogs and how much they love them, and how they’re the greatest, and bring them so much pleasure, and so forth, ad nauseam.