Micro Monday - June 2, 2025
The Skull
Happy Monday! I broke my hiatus a little earlier than intended with an essay on Friday, which talked about (among other things) my childhood in rural South Carolina. It reminded me of another story I wrote, which is based on the time I found a dog’s skull in the woods behind my neighbor Jeremiah’s house (also in rural South Carolina).
This one is technically a reprint, but it appeared in the comment section of
, so there’s a chance you haven’t read it yet. It’s called The Skull, and I hope you enjoy it.
The Skull
Nobody knew whose dog it was.
Jeremiah, who was 12, knew it wasn’t one of theirs. He handed the skull to his dad, who turned it over in his fingers, but all he could say was that it wasn’t the retriever he buried out back as a kid.
“Could be a hundred years old,” he said.
We marveled. Ran our fingers over the ridges, imagined other boys like ourselves petting dogs like ours. Burying their friends in the yard, like we did, to keep them close.
Then we went home. Settled our hands on the fur we could still touch.