“And the next moment the fierce wind comes screaming, whirling the needle-pointed dust, stifling all hope. And you know then that what has not happened will never happen. That hope is an end within itself. And the fierce wind is an echo of angry childhood and of a very scared boy looking out the window – remembering my dead dog outside by the wounded house as the gray Texas dust gradually covered her up – and thinking: It isnt fair! Why cant dogs go to Heaven?”
