Daddy says that he is posting my letter today hisself on account of Shirley Mae over at Benson's Farm.  Missus Benson found ol' Shirley wandering around the northwest corner of Indian Field at sun-up.  I was crossing Echo Bridge at Hemlock Gorge when I heard the squealing Yorkshire sow myself, even over the 'ph-thump' of the mill wheel on the opposite riverbank.

Now, I been working at Benson's Farm longer than Shirley Mae's first-born were seasoned and smoked for Mister Benson's funeral some ten years back.  Daddy says it was Newtonville's largest turnout--and the hog roast wasn't half bad neither.  Still, I reckon that I favor Shirley Mae and the near-market weight hogs more than a tasty meal.  Maybe more than anything!

So ever since Daddy read me the article in the Boston Globe last week, I swored that it were a sign.  He read:  "The last member of the famous Bonaparte family died in France today of injuries sustained from tripping over his dog's leash.  Jerome Napoleon Bonaparte was survived by his wife Blanche of Newtonville."

Newtonville!  Ain't that more than a coincidence?  And ain't it fitting that the School of Veterinary Medicine in Pennsylvania announced the opening of a new clinic this winter?  Oh, what I would do to get my learning there!

And so I writ it all in a letter that Daddy posted in Newtonville today, while Shirley Mae drew her last breath to the 'ph-thump, ph-thump' of the mill wheel at Hemlock Gorge.