a pigeon named Homer

I sped down the last mile of Kentucky dirt road leading to my client’s driveway. Late again. Lord, her husband’s going to bite my head off. I was working as a home health aide and had been assigned a new client, Dorothy, just a few weeks earlier. She had a pixie haircut, twinkling eyes and an inevitable smile when she greeted me, even though she was in pain from her crippling arthritis. She was a joy to work with.