The Story of a Guy

I met a guy yesterday.  Not just any guy.  This guy was effervescent, barrel-shaped, longhaired, and loud.  He burst into the waiting room at a quick oil-change place and began bellowing at me and another quiet man sitting there waiting for our vehicles.

The guy lived “along the Continental Divide south of town.”  He did not normally like people, but he liked us.  His place is surrounded by eight-hundred feet of fence.  Not ‘something near’ or ‘about’ eight-hundred feet.

Eight-hundred feet, exactly.

Boom, there it is.

The guy was having oil changed in a car he had recently purchased for $2,200.00 and he keeps three wolves inside his eight-hundred feet of fence.  The fence is made of cedar, by the way, and one of the wolves is mean.

A female.

He normally does not like females, but he loves this wolf.

One of the guy’s neighbors—who used to poke around the outside of the fence—is missing part of a finger.  That’s not a coincidence.  

--Mitchell Hegman