It was New Year’s Eve. Brad and I were in the family room with the dogs enjoying the glow of Claudia, our anthropomorphized Christmas tree. Being a veterinarian, Andy was gone, as he often was, on an emergency call. Why couldn’t these horses get their injuries on weekdays?
“Mr. B—uh, I mean, Dad?”
I smiled. Brad only recently had seemed to feel comfortable enough to begin using that appellation for Andy and me. It had caused some confusion at first. One time after we’d finished breakfast, Brad had gotten up from the table, taken his dishes to the sink and started out of the room. Then he stopped and turned back. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. Dad?”
“Yes?” Andy and I answered at the same time.
“Oh, I was talking to Dr. B.,” Brad said.
“Seems we have a bit of a problem here.” Andy laughed.
