“You made me burn my apple fritters, so we’re even.” “When did I do that?” He perks up, sniffing the air. “You made apple fritters?” “Here.” I hand him the hat. He eyes it like I’m offering a dead skunk, not taking it from my hands. I try to put it on his head, but he’s too tall. I play a game of horseshoes, which one of us finds very amusing.
