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I Don't Know How to Act

I’m not accustomed to good news. After the remarkable but welcome election results, my mind and body are having a hard time adjusting. For the last two years, I have conditioned myself to simply cope. I restricted my news to headlines only—but then, only after taking a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and reminding myself (without really believing it) that this too shall pass. No deep dives into the abyss of sordid details. I played mental games to keep my sanity. I began each morning with a mantra: “Give up control of the things you can’t control,” and I’m not even an alcoholic—yet… I refused to look at the news or read the headlines after 5 PM for fear that a nagging worry loop would appear ten hours later derailing my REM sleep. But my self-control occasionally lapsed, and I would sneak a peek, perhaps reading about the latest illegal deportation of an immigrant whose only crime was having been born brown. Or, I might have learned of a windfall for Trump’s cronies who profite...
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The Luce Line

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  The Luce Line The tires of my Schwinn crunch the crushed gravel of the Luce Line Trail. Blooming morning glories line the meadows. A canopy of maples and ironwood shelter me from the sun. It is late July, and the earth lists ever so slightly toward the next season. The air is not crisp but it’s no longer sultry. I inhale the sweet aroma of cattle. I pause briefly to listen to the corn grow. A cardinal chirps, and a gray squirrel scurries into the underbrush. A moment later a swarm of biting flies descends on me, Nipping and nagging like the morning headlines. I mount my bike and keep pedaling. I vow to endure until the news improves.                                            -Dave Wright
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A Fairytale of Hope for Justice

  A Fairytale of Hope for Justice by Dave Wright Once upon a time, there lived a corrupt and evil king. He was without a soul, or so he thought. Having never experienced compassion or love, he was incapable of either— except for the love of money and power. Of that he was intimately familiar. During his reign as king, he recruited henchmen without a conscience to do his bidding. He assigned them to wreak chaos and fear among his subjects. They murdered or tormented innocent bystanders— anyone who bore witness to his cruelty. They broke the law without remorse. They stole with impunity. They made themselves wealthy beyond imagination. However, in the course of human time, the king’s reign was but a mote of dust in the whirlwind of history. It was not long before the king and his collaborators faced their Immortal Creator. It was then that they discovered they did have a soul, but it reflected no light. It was as black as a starless, moonless night. His...
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Unbridled Passion

  Unbridled Compassion by Dave Wright Margo I gazed with pride at my diploma hanging on the wall of the Denver Pet Hospital: Margarite Philips, Doctor of Veterinary Medicine. I leaned back in my office chair and thought of how I had finally secured my dream job: How as a young girl, I loved every critter I met—Phoebe, my pet gerbil that drove my sister bonkers running on its squeaky wheel from dusk to dawn; how I insisted on nursing baby bunnies to health despite the warnings that they wouldn’t survive; how I endured four years of undergrad and another four years at the College of Veterinary Medicine at Colorado State University in Fort Collins. I was one of 140 students, 85% of whom were women. The handful of boys in the class were snuff-chewing cowboys who wore belt buckles the size of dinner plates and displayed them at rodeos every free weekend. Rodeos! Now there’s a travesty to animal welfare. While many of the women in my class fawned over the boys, I spent every fre...
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A Neighbor Gone

  A Neighbor Gone 2/5/2026 ICE prowls our neighborhood Like a mean tomcat stalking an innocent victim. Knowing his prey is hungry and helpless, He lurks outside her locked door. The tomcat is not hungry. He is obese, Stuffed like a glutton, And bloated by the king of his notorious pride. The hunt is simply a game to him: A primal instinct Instilling fear in his prey—and in others, Loathing. The tomcat’s prey is starving. She seeks a morsel of cheese. She peeks out the door. With a single swipe of his paw, The tomcat plucks her from the doorway, Forces her to the ground. He pounces upon her, grabs her by the neck, And flings her in the air. Domination excites him. He repeats the torment. Surrounded by his approving pride and her appalled neighbors, She is hauled away. Tears from her husband and children stain her window. The tomcat delivers his traumatized and bleeding prey To the golden doorstep of his evil king. “Well done, loyal servant.” says...
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A Message from Above

  A Message from Above by Dave Wright I arrived at the door of my old apartment on Eustis Street in St. Paul wearing a paisley short sleeve shirt and a swede leather coat that was a size too small. (It was a snug fit when I bought it, but hey, the price was right.) It was early May, and I had seen my buddy’s Chrysler Cordoba in the parking lot. I was in my first year of veterinary practice in Blooming Prairie, had the weekend off, and was looking for college friends. I had lived in this second-floor apartment the previous year during my senior year of veterinary school at the University of Minnesota with three other FarmHouse Fraternity brothers. After graduation we turned the apartment over to several women we knew who still had to complete another year at the U. I knocked. A young woman I didn’t recognize answered the door wearing a raggedy faded blue bathrobe. She looked at me with a skeptical eye. Later, I found out she thought I was peddling religion. “Hi,” I said. “I...
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Get a Job!

  Get a Job! by Dave Wright My dad was a firm believer in the work ethic—the curse of American capitalism—and he was determined to instill it into my brothers and me. My younger brothers were early adapters. They were barely out of grade school when they began farrowing sows and raising hogs at a farm near town. I, on the other hand, was a slow learner. Despite Dad’s efforts to get me out of the house—say, by baling hay or assembling grain bins, those jobs survived one outing—and I wasn’t invited back. Lucky me. The day after I celebrated my sixteenth birthday, I passed my driver’s test and lost any excuse for staying out of the job market. “Where are you planning to work?” queried Dad. “I’ll provide you with a car to drive, but I expect you to supply the gas.” Having made no attempt to apply anywhere by the time school started that fall, Dad found a job for me. Watland Implement: Sweeper “I’ve talked to a friend of mine who owns the International Harvester dealers...
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