Dear Curiosity Journal,
There’s an ancient, unspoken deal between man and dog, the pact of meat after a hunt. My dad shot a buck, and while it hung in our tree, Balio could take no rest. He watched it with a vigilant eye, day and night. He lunged, growled and barked at every woodpecker taking a fraction of the fat to the sky, and you can bet he did everything in his power to reach the hind legs to no avail. At butchering time, he crowded my dad so closely that he almost tripped, and was finally gifted the rib cage. His entire being lit up, all smiles and prancing. We watched him carry his cumbersome prize across the farmstead as the free grazing sheep scattered away with a frenzied energy, looking to each other as if counting off to see if they were all there. To our surprise, he headed for their pasture to bury the bones, which I imagine the flock found quite sinister. At least it’s not in the manger, as I would not want to interfere with the ancient deal.