Carolie sat on the rough wooden planks of her porch, looking out at the woods, smelling griddle cakes Mama was cooking, listening to her little brothers shouting. She could hear a chainsaw in the distance, somebody working on Sunday morning. Buster, dusty from lying at her feet, had just got up and went inside following the smell of food. Dogs were loyal, but more loyal to food. At least you knew where they stood. Inside, a chair fell over with a bang, her brothers must’ve knocked it over. Her Daddy’s voice boomed out, angry; everything stopped quiet, except the chainsaw.