When she doesn’t look stupid, she looks kind of wise.
Dear Dad,
I’m starting to get nervous that you haven’t come back yet. I thought this trip into the woods would be shorter, since you should kind of know where you’re going this time.
If I don’t have you writing me letters, I’m glad I have this old black dog. She’s not really old, but she’s already gray around her mouth. And she lays her head on her front paws and stares right into my eyes. So when she doesn’t look stupid, she looks kind of wise. Or understanding. At least she pays attention. When I talk to her, she hangs on every single word. I know this is mostly her listening for words like “walk” or “snack,” but I still like it. I can talk to her abour Mr. Schick (the fathead), you (the stiff) and whether or not Mom is dating (the mystery).
Mom was right about this dog. Everyone needs a companion. I guess she needs one, too.
I asked Rhett if he thought Mom wanted to date. He kind of blew me off, because he was walking out the door to some mysterious thing. He was eating leftover spaghetti out of a tupperware container as he walked. He said, “Mom? Date?” Then he sucked up more spaghetti as he opened the front door with his hip and walked out. Halfway out the door, he stopped and said, “Huh.”
Boy, it’s great to have such a wise older brother.
Your son,
Trevor
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