Frankie McCafferty

The three-legged dog barks.

Woof, woof, woof, woof!

Cortland walks the sheep out the road and he finds the biggest, greenest, just right field he can find.

He runs ahead of the lambs.

The three-legged dog holds up the rear.

He opens the gate and the lambs run in.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, says the three-legged dog.

Willie looks at the door.

Half expects, half hopes.

Half dream wishes it to be Cortland.

Returned, ready to bring everything back to the way it was.

It is not Cortland.

It is Maggie ***.

one of two competing town gossips.

She being the more enthusiastic of the two and often using the technique of repeating your own words back to you in the hope that you may clarify those words and in doing so reveal more juicy, succulent, medium-rare information.

She hound dogs in the door.

Good afternoon, Willie.

Is Mr. Alexander around?

And with him being a Protestant.

I mean, not that a Protestant couldn't go to a holy well, but it was that him and the dog were drinking water out of Mr. Alexander's hands.