Treasury of Joy & Inspiration by Editors Of Reader's Digest Page A

nearly 7,000 miles, nine time zones and so many years.
    â€œIt is a miracle I have found you after such a long time,” Chi said, laughing. “I had almost given up.”
    The two discussed the many turns their lives had taken since their time in Korea. Chi recounted his accomplishments for his old mentor.
    â€œMy friend,” Dr. Thomas said, “I’m so proud to see what you’ve made of yourself. I always knew it was there inside of you.”
    Chi paused as he searched for just the right words.
    â€œI want you to know something,” the Korean said in a voice that shook with emotion. “Meeting you was one of the most significant moments in my life. Our friendship was a turning point for me.”
    Then, after waiting so many years for his chance, Chi finally spoke the words he had long held in his heart.
    â€œDr. Thomas—thank you.”
    Â 
    Money Talk
    Money is a singular thing. It ranks with love as man’s greatest source of joy. And with death as his greatest source of anxiety. John Kenneth Galbraith
    â€¢ • •
    It is said that for money you can have everything, but you cannot. You can buy food, but not appetite; medicine, but not health; knowledge, but not wisdom; glitter, but not beauty; fun, but not joy; acquaintances, but not friends; servants, but not faithfulness; leisure, but not peace. You can have the husk of everything for money, but not the kernel. Arne Garborg
    A Heart for the Run
    Gary Paulsen
    April 1997
    From Puppies, Dogs, and Blue Northers
    C ookie had been my lead sled dog for close to 14,000 miles, including an Iditarod, the nearly 1,200-mile race from Anchorage to Nome, Alaska. Several times she saved my life. Somewhere along the way she became more than a dog, more than a friend—almost my alter ego.
    Now she was due to give birth in a wild winter storm, and my anxiety was acute. I thought of bringing her from the kennel into our small log house in northern Minnesota, but it would be too warm. Her coat was in full prime—she was at least a third wolf with gray wolf markings—and the heat would be murderous.
    I decided to construct an igloolike hut from bales of straw I kept near the kennel. It was just big enough for Cookie—and me, since the only way I could get any relief from my worry was to stay with her. Once inside, I crawled into my sleeping bag and said to Cookie, “Nice. Way better than we’re used to.”
    She was busy licking herself and didn’t respond, although she usually did. We talked often. I frequently explained parts of my life to her, which sometimes helped me better understand myself.
    I fell asleep and awakened four hours later to find Cookie giving birth. Four gray pups making small whine-grunt sounds were out and cleaned.
    Everything went fine until the eighth and last pup. It was stillborn. Cookie worked at it, licking harder and harder, trying to get it to breathe, her actions becoming frantic.
    She growled concern, and it turned to a whine. I reached one hand to cover her eyes, and with the other took the pup and buried it under some straw near the door opening. With other females I had hidden the dead pup to take away later, and it had worked. The mother focused on the live pups and forgot the dead one.
    But I should have known better. This was
Cookie—stubborn, immensely strong-willed and powerful, completely dedicated to those she loved. She looked for the pup, and when she couldn’t find it, she looked me in the eye. Where is it?
    I reached under the straw, and she took it gently in her mouth, set it down and began working on it again. When she could not get it to respond, she put it with the other nursing pups.
    The movement of the pups caused the body of the dead one to move. She must have thought it alive, because she lay back exhausted from the birthing, closed her eyes and went to sleep. I waited a full minute, then carefully removed the dead pup and took it outside to a