To the hog house

To the hog house

I didn’t bother opening the wooden gate because the latch sometimes didn’t fall back into place cleanly and you’d have to fiddle around with it. I’d rather just climb over. Fences are so cool. People can climb over a fence, but cattle—much bigger, tougher, stronger—have to stand on the other side, watching.

Friends

            Dad sent out a short essay that concerned a guy he knew.  Robert Petersen was a cattle buyer years ago who became the President of IBP. 

You did what?

I am ashamed to write about this. It seems to be something that is particular about me—or at least no one else ever talks about doing such a thing. At first thought, it seems to be a symptom of an unsatisfied, unloved, maladjusted childhood. To describe my childhood, I thought, would be the portrayal of a fairy tale existence—huge family, lots of toys, parents who care—all hallmarks of a fine life.