In this issue associate professor Leslie Irvine reveals an unusual source for restoring a sense of purpose and dignity among the nation鈥檚 homeless 鈥� pets. From 麻豆影院 to Miami Irvine spent time on the streets and found that pets spurred transformative behavioral changes in their homeless owners [pages 26-29]. Her work reminded me of Warren, the first homeless person I met.
I was 10 when I stumbled upon Warren while playing in the ring of woods adjacent to my house. Dressed in black, he was digging through an unkempt pile of branches, looking for a tuba he had buried when he was a kid.
Warren had grown up nearby, but my dad told us he had fought in the Vietnam War and it had changed him. One day we found Warren sleeping in our barn. My mom called the police.
I watched through the family room window as the two cops led him up our driveway, past our flowering dogwood tree to their car. They talked to him as if he were an irritating friend from high school who always made the same mistake. His sand-colored hair looked like it had never been combed.
Where would he go after they dropped him off at the edge of town? Even as a child, I knew Warren had lost more than his tuba. He had lost his dignity, and nothing he found in our woods was going to bring it back.
For months, I paused with trepidation before entering our barn or the woods, scanning the area for Warren. More often, as I hopped over fallen trees and leaf piles, I caught myself looking for the glimmer of a shiny gold tuba. I never found it. It, like Warren, was gone.