It got so that I hated turning in at the end of the day. I dreaded the restless sleep that lay ahead. The night before, I’d fallen out of bed and landed on my head with enough force to knock me unconscious. My border collie had licked me awake.
Not for the first time, a fitful and anxiety-filled nightmare had thrown me from the bed to the floor. I’d had a number of unpleasant dreams since my wife, Genie, died. Last night, I’d ducked and dodged, chased by a faceless, fearsome beast. I knew
