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“Show me a sane man and I will cure him for you.”
C. G. Jung
We’re somewhere in the mountains, an hour by foot from home. I’m looking for a tennis ball on a rocky slope below the path from which I threw it. Maya, my sub-intrepid Border Collie, failed to do her one simple job and now sits safely on the path watching me play fetch. Slope-below-path here means rugged mountainside; steep, rock-strewn, viney, cluttered with rotted treefall and tangled underbrush into which no sane person would venture for love or money, much less a slobbery tennis ball. Sanity, however, has never been one of my shortcomings.
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