Shiloh
“Shiloh gets biscuits or toast and a couple bites of ham for breakfast, and then in the evening, I fix him up some frankfurters, cut up and mixed with sour cream, and little chunks of cheese. He don’t much like the cheese. It sticks to his teeth and he turns his head sideways when he chews, trying to get it off. Licks his chops afterward, though.
He throws up the first time he eats the stuff—too rich for his belly, I guess—but after that he manages to keep it down, and all the while he’s fattening out a little. Each day it’s harder to see his ribs.
I know my secret can’t go on forever, though. Only had the dog for six days, and that evening I find out that Judd Travers wants to hunt on our land. Up the hill and over in the far woods. Thinks maybe he could find himself some quail over there, he says.
When Dad tells us that piece of news at dinner, my whole body goes cold. I want to jump up and scream, “No!” but I just grip my chair and wait it out.
“Ray, I don’t like that idea at all,”
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