Dear Daddy, I love that your pockets smell like chicken. And that we go for rides in the truck to check on all our different places and make sure squirrels haven’t invaded. And when we stop at the beer store, I will always keep a lookout for Suspicious Moving Objects while you’re gone. And I will sit in your seat to keep it warm. And I am continuously hopeful that chicken will make its way from your pockets to your fingers and to my mouth. And this will forever be the way of things. And we will be happy like this and I will never have to go to the hotel again.