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Love hurts

Love Hurts By Bill Stork, DVM My first three years of college I lived in the dormitories; all the better to bear-down on academics. We shared the cafeteria with twelve floors of co-eds next door, and they served chicken Kiev for breakfast every Sunday. For the middle years, I rented places with monikers like The Barn and the Big Square Grey House, with men who would go on to become attorneys, physics teachers, consultants, and engineers. The focus was always on higher education, but occasionally it would strike us that rigors of weekday learning would best be augmented by spirited socialization and modest libation on a Saturday evening. These notions were often spontaneous and coincident wit

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