Dear Cole, I thought of you today when I was attacked by a wild dog. Well, perhaps I exaggerate a bit. But walking home at dusk this evening I was surprised by a low growling noise and a dog approaching me from an alley. I had been deep in thought about a particular medical problem, and was quite startled. I did not even stop to think, I stooped to grab a rock and threw it at the beast. (Don't tell Ollie, he'll lecture me that the dog was probably ill and shouldn't be abused, but I was genuinely frightened.) The dog ran away, and I was reminded of how often you and I used to practice throwing rocks. I had let the practice lapse since coming to Philadelphia, as there are fewer opportunities here, but I think I shall endeavor to find an alley or some such place to keep my skills in place. I want to be able to still beat you squarely in a rock throwing contest when you are finally mustered out and visiting with us. You have guns now, do you still throw rocks? I have to imagine that others are always wanting to throw rocks at you, unless you have suddenly given up your pranks. I may miss your company, but I do not miss having to check my bed every night to be sure there is nothing slimy, smelly, or otherwise unpleasant awaiting me.

Celeste