(Note: Travel day today. We’re headed 993 miles north, back to the northwest winter. I’m okay with that.–jrs)

Dear Biped,

Lots of grass to eat today. We’re in that big meadow behind your house, which is mostly dark and has been for most of twelve suns. Do you wander off in search of new food? That little fox you like told me she saw you drive away with stuff loaded in the back of your stinky silver box.

I watched some young coyotes sniff around your outside cooking place, but they didn’t get into any real mischief. They did pee on the leg of where you sit and breathe smoke. They thought it was funny. A pheasant crowed and they ran off to investigate. Stupid pheasant.

The weather has been very warm for this season. I’m not complaining. It hasn’t rained much and the grass is oddly spicy, but it is still abundant. The creeks are low and the salmon and steelhead are having trouble getting up high. This makes the ospreys and eagles very happy. A few of the big trees remember when the big brown bears were happy too, but they’re long gone. Now, it’s just the smaller black guys who keep mostly to themselves.

We’ll spend the first sun today in this meadow and then we’ll go bed down in the dunes. I want to stay on this side of the screaming line. Those stinky boxes you use to get around really scare me and they move so fast. We lost a good female last year. Remember that? She just couldn’t figure it out. None of us really can. Things just happen too fast. You humans get hurt, too, sometimes. It’s a strange behavior, but there’s no changing it. I reckon it’s part of living along side of each other.

Hope you light up your house again soon. I find that I’m missing you baring your teeth in greeting. I still think that’s very odd, but I’m discovering that odd doesn’t bother me like it used to. Maybe you’re rubbing off on me a little. I hope the reverse is true, as well.

Your pal,
Buddy

(Yep. This is the actual meadow.)