This evening, I bathed Griffin in the kitchen sink. I put on disposable latex gloves and removed the eye goo that hardens into the fur below his eyes. Using my manicure scissors, I trimmed his eyebrows so it will be easier to see the intelligent snap in his brown eyes. I didn’t replace his collar.
I climbed into bed early, and brought with me the collar and my sewing kit. On the TV in my room, I turned on a movie where three brothers take a train through India. Though the movie was made prior to the SUCs, it still reminded me that there are other civilizations, other ways to do things—that there’s still life out there.
I have what may prove a suitable way to privately contact Levi. I have a note on tiny white paper that says this: “Levi: Griffin isn’t the only one from the County Fair who still loves you. If you believe in magic, please call Jane at the same old.” I rolled the paper up like a little scroll, and slid it into the mezuzah canister that I unscrewed from the front entrance to the house. Then I sewed the container onto Griffin’s collar.
Yep, that’s the plan: a twelve-pound border terrier will be the envoy to Levi Finch.
Jill Riddell is a writer in Chicago. She teaches at the School of the Art Institute and has a weakness for nature, magic, and pennies abandoned in sidewalk cracks.