I told you, last week, we had mail to mail—Buster and I.

Tuesday we made the trek. Not down the stony steep lane, pocked by rains, the ditches chocked with delicious, moldy leaves. Rather, we took the way less traveled, through the woods. No squirrels, but he found plenty else to get his panties in a twist. The funky rotted things are the most delectable.

We didn’t see Bear. Sometimes the neighbor’s dog—we call him Bear—strays onto our property. Paulson always sends him running. We don’t want him up here.

Bear’s lady had him stuck inside, I guess. Anyhow, we got Joe’s mail off, and Kamala’s.

 


 

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