In the grocery store, in the snack aisle, I hear someone say, “Excuse me.”
I turn around and there is a girl, seven or eight years old, looking up at me.
“Hi,” I say.
“I need to tell you that we read your book about Winn-Dixie and then we got a dog and the dog’s name is Myrtle and we wouldn’t have gotten her if we hadn’t read the book.”
“Myrtle?” I say.
“Yes,” she says.
“That is the best story anyone has told me in a long time,” I say. “Thank you. Will you give Myrtle a hug from me?”
“Yes,” she says. “I will.” She turns and walks back to her mother.
I stay in the snack aisle for a while, happily staring at the chips.
Myrtle.

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