Andy

I was off living in the dorms, avoiding phone calls, when my brother was given the gift of life. He wasn't born right then, of course, but literally given to him was a little bundle of life.

It was a girl, cute and covered in black fuzz. He named her Andromeda, which I always thought was one of the coolest names around. People who knew her knew her as Andy.

Andy was amazing; she was spunky, goofy, well behaved, and a blast to be around. She and my brother had good times; the Cabin, hunting with Grandpa Tom, playing in the yard...

When I would come home for a visit, I'd play with her in the front yard--she start doing laps at full speed, zooming in close and I would "get" her, and she'd take off again on another lap.

In our younger years, when we were more inclined towards tobacco, I would find in our backyard piles of cigarette filters, chewed up to where the outer paper was gone, but piled neatly. Two or three separate piles. I always remember thinking "wow...she's collecting them for something..."

My heart hit a sad note when I learned of Andy's passing into the great Search for Fortune and Glory. She was thirteen of our years old, which is, what, ninety-one of her years old.

She had dignity,



grace, and a smile for all occasions. She was even part of the inspiration for a painting I made.

Here's the painting "Dan, Andy, and Dinner" (2003)



I am sad. I loved Andy and enjoyed all my time with her. I can't imagine how my brother is doing. It makes me want to hug Tuxedo.