I didn’t know Cono early on. I was born seven years later. But when he held me that first day, I learned right away that he was someone like me, the one from the litter who fought their way up. Slow, steady and watchful, the slow days of winter and the long days of summer kept us both hopeful that our family would have a few more dollars in their pocket. But that was back in the 30’s. And you’re telling me it’s happening again? Shoot, we thought we were all done with scratching in the dirt for something to eat. A’course, Cono and I don’t have to worry none about that anymore. We’re together in the great beyond looking down on you good folks. He’s sitting on a soft recliner cloud right now and he’s yellling over to me, “Pooch, tell ’em it’ll work out jest fine. No Hill for a Stepper.”
A Depression? Again?
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Carolyn Dennis-Willingham 