I coaxed the animal inside and he walked up and down the aisles, even went down into the basement looking for his master. When he could not find him, he waited for the next customer to come through the front door and returned to his post on the porch.

That night Mag lured Oyster inside with some leftover pot roast. The dog followed us upstairs to bed, but he did nothing but pace and whine the entire night. Finally she had to let him out to wait on the porch for Jack, who showed up the next day and reconciled with his pet.

A few days later Buffmeir abandoned the dog on the back porch. He walked through the store with a sack of carrots and didn’t return until dark. My grandmother was getting ready to close when Jack appeared and said, “I walked up to Batavia and swam naked in the gravel pit.” Batavia was seven miles away.

When my grandmother recounted the story to Cousin Eustace and his father, Pug, Pug said, “Damn, he should have kept right on going until he got to Elgin.” Elgin was the city north of Batavia that housed the state mental institution, just one city beyond St. Charles, which housed the Boys’ Reformatory where Boy Cleatus was incarcerated.

Cousin Eustace leaned against the pop machine, mimicking his father’s body language. He had a strained, high-pitched voice and a pasty complexion and too much weight. “He should have kept right on going to Elgin, Mag,” Cousin Eustace said.

“Hell, yes,” Pug said, waving a sweaty bottle of Green River.

“Hell, yes, he should,” Cousin Eustace said. “That man is full of bunk.”

“He’s a damn nut!” Pug said.

“Sure he is, Dad, a damn nut! Lock him up and throw away the key.”