“Like on Mr. Ed?”
“After the Wright brother?”
“You come from Pennsylvania?”
“You named your dog after the secretary of commerce?”
I’d never even heard of two of the things people had suggested.
An entire family stopped to chat at one point, a mom who looked frazzled, her husband, and four kids, toddler to teen, which explained her look. “I get it,” she said. “Some pig. The special messages…They thought he could write and all that, from Charlotte’s Web.”
Ding, ding, ding. We had a winner.
“Yes,” I said, snuggling Wilbur to my chest. “He can be some pig, too, at dinnertime.”
Patrick heard from his friend about Calvin just after we ate lunch, once again, supplied by Benji. He’d brought us pizza and had swung by a McDonald’s not far off for a burger with no bun for Wilbur. “They found
