On following a dog into the woods. (1/3)

Today, and for the next week or so, our posts are going to look a little different than usual. I want to tell you a story about what happened to me this past weekend while one of my brothers was visiting (you get to meet another Endicott). I don’t want to tell you it all at once though. Anticipation makes the heart grow fonder. This story will come in three installments, so stay tuned to find out why I thought this important to share.

Eric had come to visit from New Jersey and I was finally going to learn how to grill. Somewhat of a spiritual descendant of the lumberjack, my tattooed, bearded bear of an oldest brother climbed out of his Dodge Ram 3500 diesel truck (which was equipped with a plow and an 800 lb. capacity salter in case it snowed, by the way) and gave me, quite fittingly, a bear hug. A grin crossed his face as he looked at me and said, “Hey buddy.” Dressed in old jeans and a  flannel jacket, he grabbed his single bag from the back of the cab and followed me into our apartment.