The little scottie dog from Monopoly continues to unsettle me, although I have made a discovery that has helped in some small measure to resettle me. I now believe the figurine means me no harm and may actually be some form of guardian angel. Every time I attempt anything that might be perceived as dangerous, such as slicing cucumber with a very sharp knife, running with scissors, overloading wall sockets, leaving dishcloths slightly too close to a lit gas hob, immersing my elbow in a pot of scalding broth, or smelting pig iron, I hear the strange voice utter '...no, Horton...' from the general area of the mantletop where sits my little dog.
It is pleasing to note that someone, somewhere cares for me, even if it is only a tiny pewter player piece from the board game Monopoly. I feel safe and secure for the first time in 13 years. I don't recall if I have ever felt so low and wretched as to share with you my vivid memories of what came to pass on that dark and fateful day 13 years ago. For now I will say only that I have seldom felt safe and secure since those grim events transpired. They completely unsettled me, and despite occasional respite, I feel I have never quite resettled.
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