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“Meantime, a midsize Labrador mutt cut me off at the cul-de-sac. He was in desperate need of a rubdown.ÌýIÌýgaveÌýitÌýa thoughtÌýbutÌýfearedÌýhisÌýbark and constantÌýgruff.ÌýIÌýlockedÌýeyesÌýthenÌýnoticedÌýhis black and white patches rotated with agitations. HeÌýyapped and yapped and bluffed mightily, but he cautiously stayed a safe distance away. Eventually, he lost all courage and quietly ran for shelter. As for me, I never stopped advancing toward my brother’s place. It took some effort but

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yard.
Ìý
TheÌýcloserÌýIÌýgot,ÌýtheÌýmoreÌýdefiniteÌýtheÌýsoundsÌýofÌýdishes breaking,ÌýkidsÌýplaying,ÌýinfantsÌýtesting

theirÌýlungs,Ìýand TVs watchingÌýthemselves became.ÌýJerryÌýandÌýhis wifeÌýhadÌýseparated someÌýtime ago. Regardless, he was left with four adult daughters still in the nest. Obviously, the girls brought kids of their own to the mix. But everything unfoldingÌýbefore me appeared chaotic on theÌýotherÌýsideÌýofÌýthatÌýthreshold. ThatÌýentireÌýsceneÌýgrewÌýlargerÌýandmoreÌýintimidatingÌýwithÌýevery timid step I took.”
― Harold Phifer, My Bully, My Aunt, & Her Final Gift