The Golden Sofa   The arrangement is ridiculous: we’re sharing a dog. (The lawyers hashed it out.) My brother-in-law, an attorney here in Wyoming, says that without a doubt there’s always a golden sofa. He pauses, then explains: a lightning rod, a bone of contention, a rationale for courts and laws and lawyers — and now he’s on a roll. One time the legal dissolution of love was proceeding amicably enough — “amicably” — which is to say, above the customary strife attending stuff — the houses and boats, the money, the kids — ours distilled to mine and mine, just as naturally as oxygen, electrolyzed, will rid itself of hydrogen and — voilą — water is no more. Like that. The cars, the keys, the cats — no problemo. But then she wanted the golden sofa. And so did he.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont November 2013