[nagdu] Ny Times Magazine Article

Angie Matney leadinglabbie at mpmail.net
Tue Jan 6 19:37:38 UTC 2009


My apologies if this has indeed shown up on this list, but I haven't seen it. I saw the Day to Day piece, but here's the article from the NY Times Magazine on which it was based.

Angie


Creature Comforts 
By REBECCA SKLOOT

ON HALLOWEEN NIGHT IN A SUBURB of Albany, a group of children dressed as
vampires and witches ran past a middle-aged woman in plain clothes. She
gripped
a leather harness - like the kind used for Seeing Eye dogs - which was
attached to a small, fuzzy black-and-white horse barely tall enough to reach
the
woman's hip. 

"Cool costume," one of the kids said, nodding toward her. 

But she wasn't dressed up. The woman, Ann Edie, was simply blind and out for
an evening walk with Panda, her guide miniature horse.

There are no sidewalks in Edie's neighborhood, so Panda led her along the
street's edge, maneuvering around drainage ditches, mailboxes and bags of
raked
leaves. At one point, Panda paused, waited for a car to pass, then veered
into the road to avoid a group of children running toward them swinging glow
sticks. She led Edie onto a lawn so she wouldn't hit her head on the side
mirror of a parked van, then to a traffic pole at a busy intersection, where
she stopped and tapped her hoof. "Find the button," Edie said. Panda raised
her head inches from the pole so Edie could run her hand along Panda's nose
to find and press the "walk" signal button.

Edie isn't the only blind person who uses a guide horse instead of a dog -
there's actually a Guide Horse Foundation that's been around nearly a
decade.
The obvious question is, Why? In fact, Edie says, there are many reasons:
miniature horses are mild-mannered, trainable and less threatening than
large
dogs. They're naturally cautious and have exceptional vision, with eyes set
far apart for nearly 360-degree range. Plus, they're herd animals, so they
instinctively synchronize their movements with others. But the biggest
reason is age: miniature horses can live and work for more than 30 years. In
that
time, a blind person typically goes through five to seven guide dogs. That
can be draining both emotionally and economically, because each one can cost
up to $60,000 to breed, train and place in a home.

"Panda is almost 8 years old," her trainer, Alexandra Kurland, told me. "If
Panda were a dog, Ann would be thinking about retiring her soon and starting
over, but their relationship is just getting started. They're still
improving their communication and learning to read each other's bodies. It's
the difference
between dating for a few years and being married so long you can finish each
other's sentences."

Edie has nothing against service dogs - she has had several. One worked
beautifully. Two didn't - they dragged her across lawns chasing cats and
squirrels,
even pulled her into the street chasing dogs in passing cars. Edie doesn't
worry about those sorts of things with Panda because miniature horses are
less
aggressive. Still, she says, "I would never say to a blind person, 'Run out
and get yourself a guide horse,' because there are definite limitations."
They
eat far more often than dogs, and go to the bathroom about every two or
three hours. (Yes, Panda is house-trained.) Plus, they can't curl up in
small places,
which makes going to the movies or riding in airplanes a challenge. (When
miniature horses fly, they stand in first class or bulkhead because they
don't
fit in standard coach.) 

What's most striking about Edie and Panda is that after the initial shock of
seeing a horse walk into a cafe, or ride in a car, watching them work
together
makes the idea of guide miniature horses seem utterly logical. Even normal.
So normal, in fact, that people often find it hard to believe that the
United
States government is considering a proposal that would force Edie and many
others like her to stop using their service animals. But that's precisely
what's
happening, because a growing number of people believe the world of service
animals has gotten out of control: first it was guide dogs for the blind;
now
it's monkeys for quadriplegia and agoraphobia, guide miniature horses, a
goat for muscular dystrophy, a parrot for psychosis and any number of
animals
for anxiety, including cats, ferrets, pigs, at least one iguana and a duck.
They're all showing up in stores and in restaurants, which is perfectly
legal
because the Americans With Disabilities Act (A.D.A.) requires that service
animals be allowed wherever their owners want to go. 

Some people enjoy running into an occasional primate or farm animal while
shopping. Many others don't. This has resulted in a growing debate over how
to
handle these animals, as well as widespread suspicion that people are
abusing the law to get special privileges for their pets. Increasingly,
business
owners, landlords and city officials are challenging the legitimacy of
noncanine service animals and refusing to accommodate them. Animal owners
are responding
with lawsuits and complaints to the Department of Justice. This August, the
Arizona Game and Fish Department ordered a woman to get rid of her
chimpanzee,
claiming that she brought it into the state illegally - she disputed this
and sued for discrimination, arguing that it was a diabetes-assistance chimp
trained to fetch sugar during hypoglycemic episodes.

Cases like this are raising questions about where to draw the lines when it
comes to the needs and rights of people who rely on these animals, of
businesses
obligated by law to accommodate them and of everyday civilians who - because
of health and safety concerns or just general discomfort - don't want
monkeys
or ducks walking the aisles of their grocery stores. 

A few months ago, in a cafe in St. Louis, I met a man named Jim Eggers, who
uses an assistance parrot, Sadie, to help control his psychotic tendencies.
Eggers looks like a man who has been fighting his whole life. He is
muscular, with a buzz cut, several knocked-out teeth and many scars,
including one
that runs ear-to-chin from surgery to repair a broken jaw. Eggers avoids eye
contact in public - he walks fast down streets and through stores staring
at the ground, jaw clenched. "I have bipolar disorder with psychotic
tendencies," he told me as he sucked down a green-apple smoothie. "Homicidal
feelings
too." 

Eggers's condition has landed him in court several times: a
disturbing-the-peace charge for pouring scalding coffee onto a man under his
apartment window
who annoyed him; one-year probation for threatening to kill the archbishop
of St. Louis because of news reports about church money and molestations by
priests in other cities (which the archbishop had nothing to do with). In
describing his condition, Eggers says it's like when the Incredible Hulk
changes
from man to monster. His vision blurs, his body tingles and he can barely
hear. According to his friend Larry Gower, who often serves as a public
liaison
for him, in those moments, Eggers gets extremely loud. They both agree that
Sadie is one of the few things keeping Eggers from snapping. 

Sadie rides around town on Eggers's back in a bright purple backpack
specially designed to hold her cage. When he gets upset, she talks him down,
saying:
"It's O.K., Jim. Calm down, Jim. You're all right, Jim. I'm here, Jim." She
somehow senses when he is getting agitated before he even knows it's
happening.
"I still go off on people sometimes, but she makes sure it never escalates
into a big problem," he told me, grinning bashfully at Sadie. "Now when
people
make me mad I just give them the bird," he said, pulling up his sleeve and
flexing his biceps, which is covered with a large tattoo of Sadie.

Soon after what he calls "the Archbishop Incident," Eggers got Sadie from a
friend who owned a pet store. She'd been neglected by a previous owner and
had
torn out all her feathers, so Eggers nursed her back to health. He didn't
initially train her as a service animal, he says; she did that herself. When
Eggers had episodes at home, he'd pace, holding his head and yelling: "It's
O.K., Jim! You're all right, Jim! Calm down, Jim!" One day, Sadie started
doing
it, too. He soon realized that she calmed him better than he calmed himself.
So he started rewarding her each time it happened. And he has had only one
incident since: he dented a woman's car with his fist on a day when he'd
left Sadie at home.

Eggers didn't think to use any special language to describe Sadie until he
tried to take her on a bus and the driver said that only "service animals"
were
allowed. Eggers went home and looked up "service animal" online. "That's
when it all fell into place," he told me. He learned that psychiatric
service
animals help their owners cope with things like medication side effects.
Eggers takes heavy doses of antipsychotics that leave him in a fog most of
the
day. So he trained Sadie to alert him with a loud ringing noise if someone
calls, or to yell "WHO'S THERE?" when anyone knocks on the door. If the fire
alarm goes off, Sadie goes off. If Eggers leaves the faucet running, Sadie
makes sounds like a waterfall until he turns it off. 

Eggers got a service-animal bus pass for Sadie and began taking her
everywhere. (He has special insulated cage panels to keep her warm in
winter.) For years,
few people objected. Then, in the spring of 2007, Eggers went to have his
teeth cleaned at the St. Louis Community College dental-hygiene school, and
officials
there told him that Sadie wasn't allowed inside because she posed a risk to
public health and wasn't really a service animal. "All I can say is, they
were
lucky I had Sadie with me to keep me calm when they said that," Eggers told
me. 

He filed a complaint with the United States Department of Education's Office
of Civil Rights (O.C.R.), which initiated an investigation. Its conclusion:
the school wrongfully denied access based on public-health concerns without
assessing whether Sadie actually posed a risk. (Several top epidemiologists
I interviewed for this article said that, on the whole, birds and miniature
horses pose no more risk to human health than service dogs do.) 

But Eggers is still fighting that fight. According to the O.C.R., the school
"exceeded the boundaries of a permissible inquiry" by questioning Eggers
about
his disability. But that didn't change the school's conclusion: it labeled
Sadie a mere "therapy animal." If that label sticks, it will mean that Sadie
isn't covered by the federal law that protects service animals and
guarantees them access to public places.

Stories like Eggers's involve two questions that are often mistakenly
treated as one. The first: What qualifies as a service animal? The second:
Can any
species be eligible? 

There are two categories of animals that help people. "Therapy animals"
(also known as "comfort animals") have been used for decades in hospitals
and homes
for the elderly or disabled. Their job is essentially to be themselves - to
let humans pet and play with them, which calms people, lowers their blood
pressure
and makes them feel better. There are also therapy horses, which people ride
to help with balance and muscle building.

These animals are valuable, but they have no special legal rights because
they aren't considered service animals, the second category, which the
A.D.A.
defines as "any guide dog, signal dog or other animal individually trained
to do work or perform tasks for the benefit of an individual with a
disability,
including, but not limited to, guiding individuals with impaired vision,
alerting individuals with impaired hearing to intruders or sounds, providing
minimal
protection or rescue work, pulling a wheelchair or fetching dropped items." 

Since the 1920s, when guide dogs first started working with blind World War
I veterans, service animals have been trained to do everything from helping
people balance on stairs to opening doors to calling 911. In the early '80s,
small capuchin monkeys started helping quadriplegics with basic day-to-day
functions like eating and drinking, and there was no question about whether-
they counted as service animals. Things got more complicated in the '90s,
when "psychiatric service animals" started fetching pills and water,
alerting owners to panic attacks and helping autistic children socialize.

The line between therapy animals and psychiatric service animals has always
been blurry, because it usually comes down to varying definitions of the
words
"task" and "work" and whether something like actively soothing a person
qualifies. That line got blurrier in 2003, when the Department of
Transportation
revised its internal policies regarding service animals on airplanes. It
issued a statement saying that in recent years, "a wider variety of animals
(e.g.,
cats, monkeys, etc.) have been individually trained to assist people with
disabilities. Service animals also perform a much wider variety of functions
than ever before." 

To keep up with these changes, the D.O.T.'s new guidelines said, "Animals
that assist persons with disabilities by providing emotional support qualify
as
service animals." They also said that any species could qualify and that
these animals didn't need special training, aside from basic obedience. The
only
thing required for a pet to fly with its owner instead of riding as cargo
was documentation (like a letter from a doctor) saying the person needed
emotional
support from an animal. Legally speaking, the D.O.T.'s new policy applied
only to airplanes - the A.D.A.'s definition of service animal stayed the
same.
But for those looking online to find out whether they could take their
animals into stores and restaurants, the D.O.T.'s definition looked like
official
law, and people started acting accordingly. 

Soon, a trend emerged: people with no visible disabilities were bringing
what a New York Times article called "a veritable Noah's Ark of support
animals"
into businesses, claiming that they were service animals. Business owners
and their employees often couldn't distinguish the genuine from the bogus.
To
protect the disabled from intrusive questions about their medical histories,
the A.D.A. makes it illegal to ask what disorder an animal helps with. You
also can't ask for proof that a person is disabled or a demonstration of an
animal's "tasks." There is no certification process for service animals
(though
there are Web sites where anyone can buy an official-looking card that says
they have a certified service animal, no documentation required). The only
questions businesses can ask are "Is that a trained service animal?" and
"What task is it trained to do?"

If the person answers yes to the first and claims that the animal is, say,
trained to alert him or her to a specific condition (like a seizure),
additional
questioning could end in a lawsuit. And in many cases, according to Joan
Esnayra, founder of the Psychiatric Service Dog Society, the outcome of
those
lawsuits depends largely on the words people use to describe their animals.
"If you say 'comfort,' 'need' or 'emotional support,' you're out the door,"
she says. "If you talk about what your animal does in terms of 'tasks' and
'work,' then you stand a chance."

Case in point: When the dental school questioned Eggers about whether- Sadie
was a service animal, he said she kept him "calm." If he had said that she
alerts him to things like attacks and doorbells, his case might have been
stronger. 

According to Jennifer Mathis, an attorney at the Bazelon Center for Mental
Health Law, "A lot of times when people with legitimate service animals lose
these cases, it has to do with the fact that they don't explain their
service animals well."

Rather than risk a lawsuit, many business owners simply allow the animals,
even if they doubt their legitimacy. Then they complain to the Department of
Justice that the A.D.A. is too broad in its definition of "service animal,"
and too restrictive of businesses trying to protect themselves from people
who fake it. Which many people do. 

In October, a man in Portland, Ore., took his dog on a bus, claiming that it
was a service animal. While getting off the bus, the dog killed another dog
that was riding as a "comfort animal." (In Portland, comfort animals are
allowed on public transportation.) A few days later, an editorial appeared
in
The Oregonian with the headline "Take the Menagerie Off the Bus." It opened
with: "No offense, ferret lovers. . Your pet . may offer emotional support.
But it shouldn't be roaming the aisles of a . bus or train." It argued that
the story of the dead comfort dog was proof that people had stretched the
legal
definition of service animals to include a virtual zoo of animals. 

Lex Frieden, a professor of health-information science at the 
University of Texas
 Health Science Center at Houston and a former director of the National
Council on Disability, sees the issue differently. "People shouldn't be able
to
carry their pets on a plane or into a restaurant claiming they're service
animals when they're not," he says. "But that has nothing to do with what
species
a service animal is." The appropriate response in those situations isn't a
species ban, he says, but rather strict punishments for people who pose as
disabled.
"It's fraud," he points out, "and it results in increased scrutiny of people
with legitimate disabilities."

In June, in an effort to clarify the confusion surrounding service animals,
the Department of Justice proposed new regulations to explicitly include
psychiatric
service and exclude comfort animals. This was part of a sweeping revision of
the A.D.A. intended to increase protection and access for the disabled,
which
was widely applauded. But tucked into that proposal were a few lines that
worry advocates and people with disabilities: the D.O.J. proposed limiting
service
animals to a "dog or other common domestic animal," specifically excluding
"wild animals (including nonhuman primates born in captivity), reptiles,
rabbits,
farm animals (including any breed of horse, miniature horse, pony, pig or
goat), ferrets, amphibians and rodents." 

This summer, the D.O.J. held a public hearing in Washington and invited
anyone who would be affected by the proposed changes to argue for or against
them.
Many pleaded their cases in person, others by letter. The arguments in favor
of species restrictions came primarily from businesses concerned about
having
to alter facilities, rebuilding seating areas, say, to make room for
miniature horses. Several service-animal organizations and people with
disabilities
argued that banning reptiles and insects was fine but that excluding
miniature horses and primates simply went too far. In their defense, they
cited things
like dog allergies, the long life spans of several species and monkeys'
opposable thumbs. After considering the arguments, last month the D.O.J.
submitted
a final proposal to the 
Office of Management and Budget
. Until there's a ruling, neither office will comment on the issue or say
whether the species restriction was removed or revised after the public
hearings.


Jamie Hais, a spokeswoman for the D.O.J., said she couldn't comment on why
the department suggested the species restriction. But its proposal expressed
concerns about public-health risks and said that when the original A.D.A.
was written, without specifying species, "few anticipated" the variety of
animals
people would attempt to use.

"That's simply not true," says Frieden, who was an architect of the original
A.D.A. While drafting the regulations, he said, Congressional staff members
had long discussions about defining "service animal" and whether- a trained
pony could qualify. "There was general consensus that the issue revolved
around
the question of function, not form," he says. "So, in fact, if that pony
provided assistance to a person with a disability and enabled that person to
pursue
equal opportunity and nondiscrimination, then that pony could be regarded as
a service animal." They discussed the possibility of birds and snakes for
psychiatric disorders, he said, but one of their biggest concerns was that
the A.D.A. shouldn't exclude service monkeys, which were already working
with
quadriplegics. Since then, however, monkeys have become the most contested
assistance-animal species of all. 

On a rainy day in November, I walked through a T. J. Maxx store in
Springfield, Mo., with Debby Rose and Richard, her 25-pound bonnet macaque
monkey - one
of the most controversial service animals working today. Rose was wearing
brown pants and a brown-and-gold-patterned shirt. Richard was wearing a
brown
long-sleeved polo over a white T-shirt with jeans and a tan vest that said
"Please Don't Pet Me I'm Working." Richard stood in the child seat of Rose's
shopping cart, facing forward, bouncing up and down, smacking his lips and
grinning as Rose pushed him down the aisles.

Richard is a hands-on shopper. If Rose pointed at a sweater or purse she
liked, or a pair of shoes, his hand darted out to touch them. As we passed a
pair
of tan, fuzzy winter boots that Rose particularly liked, Richard leaned out
of the cart and quickly licked one on its toe.

People stared as we walked. "Why do you have him?" they'd ask.

"He's a service animal trained for my disability, kind of like a
seizure-alert dog," Rose told them, again and again.

"Can I pet him?" 

"He doesn't like to be touched," she'd say, "but you can give him five."

People raised their hands, and Richard gave them five.

That Rose isn't bothered by people looking and asking questions is
impressive, considering that she has agoraphobia and severe anxiety disorder
with debilitating
panic attacks. Until getting Richard four years ago, she required heavy
doses of anti-anxiety drugs just to go out in public. "I couldn't have come
in
this store before Richard, let alone handled all these people talking to
me," she said. "Now I like it."

Rose adopted Richard in 2004; he was badly neglected and near death. She and
two of her six children - whom she raised as a single mother - run an
exotic-animal
shelter. Rose says she believes that Richard was trained as a service animal
for his previous owner, an elderly woman whose son gave Richard away when
she died. He had been neutered, and his tail had been surgically removed.
He'd also had his large and potentially dangerous canine teeth pulled, a
procedure
commonly done with service monkeys for safety (and often cited as one of
several ethical concerns with using wild instead of domesticated species for
such
jobs).

As Richard returned to health, Rose realized that he had begun to recognize
her panic attacks before she did. Her doctor suggested that she train him to
help with her disorder, then wrote a letter approving of him as a service
animal, saying that Richard was "a constructive way to avoid use of
unnecessary
medications." Rose took that letter to the Springfield-Greene County Health
Department, got permission for Richard to accompany her in public and has
been
drug-free ever since. She ordered a service-animal ID certificate online;
she even got a restriction on her driver's license saying that she can't
operate
a car without a monkey present. Now he sits in her lap with a hand on the
wheel while she drives, and she never leaves home without him.

But the number of places Rose and Richard can go is decreasing. In September
2006, after receiving complaints that Richard was sitting in highchairs in
restaurants, touching silverware and going through a buffet line with Rose,
the Health Department sent a letter to all local restaurants announcing that
Richard was a risk to public health and not a legitimate service animal. It
instructed businesses to refuse him access and to call the police if Rose
protested.
Businesses posted the letter on their doors and in their bathrooms; soon Cox
College of Nursing and Health Sciences, where Rose was attending nursing
school,
refused Richard access, too. Stories- started appearing about Rose and her
monkey in the newspaper and on TV. "Suddenly," she told me, "everyone knew I
had a mental disorder."

Rose dropped out of school and filed a lawsuit against her local Health
Department, the nursing school, Wal-Mart and several other local businesses
that
had forbidden Richard access, saying that they violated the A.D.A. Kevin
Gipson, director of the local Health Department, told me that he had asked
Rose
to show him what "tasks" Richard performed that would qualify him. "She
couldn't," he said. 

Defining "task" is often a point of contention in these cases, especially
with psychiatric service animals, whose work generally can't be demonstrated
on
command. Before going to T. J. Maxx, I saw Rose begin to panic while sitting
in her lawyer's office talking about her case. Her face flushed; her voice
quivered. Richard, who had been dozing in the chair beside her, leapt onto
her arm and began stroking her hair. He hugged her, rubbed her ear and cooed
while she talked. She immediately calmed down. "He snaps me out of it before
the attacks happen," she said. "If they start at night, he'll turn on the
light and get me a bottle of water."

For Gipson, that's really beside the point. "Even if Richard is a legitimate
service animal," he told me, "if he poses a public-health risk, the A.D.A.
says he can be excluded. And we believe primates pose a significant health
risk." 

Rose says that Richard is perfectly safe and immaculately clean. She showers
and blow-dries him every day and uses hand sanitizer on him regularly, and
he always wears diapers. But that doesn't impress the Health Department.
Monkeys can carry viruses, like herpes B, which are essentially harmless to
them
but usually deadly to humans. Those viruses can be transmitted through
saliva and other bodily fluids. In 1998, the 
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention
 published a study titled "B-Viruses From Pet Macaque Monkeys: An Emerging
Threat in the United States?" saying that 80 to 90 percent of adult macaques
like Richard carry herpes B. It's possible to test them for viruses, which
Rose does every year with Richard, but those tests often give false
negatives.
Plus, Gipson told me, "he could catch it any time from contact with other
monkeys, which we know he's had." Five days before the Health Department
banned
Richard, a local newspaper ran pictures of him and several other monkeys
hanging out at Rose's family's sanctuary.

According to Frederick Murphy, former head of viral pathology for the C.D.C.
and co-discoverer of the Ebola virus, the threat that viruses from service
monkeys present to humans is essentially unknown. There have been a few
cases of primate-lab workers contracting herpes B from macaques - mostly
from being
bitten - but no cases of people being infected by service monkeys, which are
usually capuchins.

The bigger concern, according to several experts, is potential aggression.
"People think monkeys are cute and like humans, but they're not," says Laura
Kahn, a public-health expert at the 
Woodrow Wilson
 School of Public and International Affairs at Harvard. "They're wild
animals, and they're dangerous."

Critics of noncanine service animals tend to focus on disease perhaps
because that's the only way to legally exclude any service animal under the
current
A.D.A. But on the whole, Bradford Smith, former director of the University
of California Davis Veterinary Medical Teaching Hospital, says, "I would
tend
to think the disease argument is really a proxy for other concerns, like
having to let any person who says their parrot or horse is a service animal
enter
into public areas." 

Rose's case is sometimes held up as an example of why the A.D.A. should be
rewritten to exclude primates as service animals. But in fact, Frieden says,
it's an example of how the original A.D.A. works well as it was written,
since it allows broad use of service animals while still leaving room to
protect
the public health. "Some situations have to be dealt with on a case-by-base
basis," he says. "You can't legislate fine lines - that's just not a
functional
law." 

Frieden is very clear about his belief that it would be a huge loss if
concerns about specific cases jeopardized the use of all noncanine service
animals,
especially the capuchin monkeys trained to help quadriplegics. The capuchins
attend "monkey college" at Helping Hands, a nonprofit organization in
Boston,
where they fetch remote controls, put food in microwaves, open containers,
vacuum floors and flip light switches, all in exchange for treats. Helping
Hands
capuchins are captive bred, which minimizes the risk of picking up diseases,
and they're provided specifically for in-home use. The proposed species
restriction
might make it impossible for people to transport capuchins or keep them in
their homes because of zoning restrictions. The thought of this makes
Helping
Hands's founder, M. J. Willard, shudder. "There ought to be a more nuanced
way if somebody just thinks it through," she says. "Even just minor
requirements
of verifying the legitimacy of a service animal would solve a lot of the
current problem."

Frieden agrees. He suggests that perhaps a national committee could be
appointed to develop certification standards for all service animals as well
as a
formal process for preventing and punishing service-animal fraud. Doing so
might solve part of the controversy, he says. But not all of it.
Particularly
when it comes to species questions. 

"Many people try to make this issue black and white - this service animal is
good; that one is bad - but that's not possible, because disability extends
through an enormous realm of human behavior and anatomy and human
condition," Frieden told me. In the end, according to him, the important
thing to remember
is this: "The public used to be put off by the very sight of a person with a
disability. That state of mind delayed productivity and caused irreparable
harm to many people for decades. We've now said, by law, that regardless of
their disability, people must have equal opportunity, and we can't
discriminate.
In order to seek the opportunities and benefits they have as citizens, if a
person needs a cane, they should be able to use one. If they need a
wheelchair,
a dog, a miniature horse or any other device or animal, society has to
accept that, because those things are, in fact, part of that person." 

Rebecca Skloot teaches nonfiction at the University of Memphis. Her first
book, "The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks," will be published by Crown in
spring
2010.








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