Dear Wigleaf,

Hi, hi. Only here's the thing. Maybe next time you go out to feed the dog, don't bring the gun along. When you feed a dog, all you need is food, wet or dry, and if you're out of food, it's OK, don't bring a gun. Maybe, instead, bring a glass of lemonade in the hand where you brought out a gun. Sit beside the dog at the bend in the creek and listen to crickets and water moving. The dog could eat kibble from your gun-free hand.

If you'd sat by a creek and left your gun at home, you might've seen some deer, or a turkey. You could have a slice of buttermilk pie. You could buy a Whopper. You could climb a modest mountain or wade in this creek in your stupid blue jean shorts.

How do you think the dog felt? In that moment, when you dropped? Did the dog go inside for help, or did she stay there, wagging her tail, adrift, certain in her way that you'd rise again to feed her. Did she cross the creek, the pony farm, the watermelon patch? Maybe she surprised a couple, new to love, in a parked car at the foot of Mill Mountain. Maybe the girl turned on the radio, and the sailor said Brandy, a fine girl. Guitar notes, descending, and a rush of human voices. Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo. Really, you should've been there, buddy.

Your Friend,
Jeff



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Read JL's story.

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