The rest of the week went by in a blur of fussy dogs, vomiting cats and high maintenance owners. As it came closer to the weekend, I thought about the best way to approach Sheldon. I still wasn’t sure that I should try, no matter what my sister said. Her life was successful, whereas I eked out a living due to bad judgment on my part. What if I made the wrong choice, yet again? Or worse, I got the signals wrong? Was it worth the heartache?
These musings followed me to the shelter on Saturday morning. I was the first volunteer to arrive. After locking my bicycle to the rack outside the building, I made my way to the office. When I got there, Sheldon was behind his desk as usual, head bent as he reviewed the documents before him. The sleeves of his light blue shirt were rolled up to his elbo
