I came late to the fraternity of humans who can't live without animals. A few years ago a stray cat staked out our back yard for himself, so technically I was rushed. There's more. Earlier that year two people died and left a crater I couldn't stop staring into--so death came late to me too. After that I was ashamed I ever had the nerve to write about death, and although in the re-reading my writing sounds authentic, I know what I was thinking and, believe me, I had no idea what I was talking about. So then, this cat. Those who have had animals save your sanity, I don't have to tell you. Part of the appeal of animals is they don't talk. Their physical presence is the magic potion. So, when Jim McGarrah's manuscript came in over the electronic transom and I started it one cold snowy night, planning to read a chapter and go to bed, but then couldn't put it down, I knew I was reading the real thing. It's the story of a warrior coming home and not having the words to breach the chasm between people who have stared into that particular crater--combat--and those who have not. And then his father buys this horse. And Jim decides to train the horse. And the rest is a funny, sad, riotous bout of first rate storytelling. And the best part? It's all true.
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