I’m a big reader, as most of you know, having the privilege of belonging to a very special library, with stacks you can roam that remind me of catacombs.
You just never know what you’ll find.
In one of my diggings, a book called…Assassination: Robert Fitzgerald Kennedy 1925-1968, a summary published in 1968, by the editors of The International Press, beginning with RFK’s final victory speech at California’s Ambassador Hotel, to when he’s mortally wounded…his funeral, first in New York, then taken by train to Arlington, laid to rest not far from his brother John.
The book, that I’m sure is out of print, made me want to don a black dress, since that’s how real it felt…like I was there, in one of the pews at St. Patrick’s Cathedral with my head solemnly bowed.
But what had me in tears, at the very end of this 272 page poignant chronicle, was Bobby Kennedy’s Irish Spaniel, Freckles, who was always by his side. 
He even alluded to Freckles as he joyfully addressed a crowd for the last time, asking his wife, Ethel, should we go get him, Freckles, asleep upstairs, in their hotel room.
When I read that he was at the gravesite, pulling on his lead trying to be near his master’s coffin before it was lowered into the ground, well…I sobbed…
for Man’s Best Friend, whose heart may break, even more than ours.
SB
