August 20, 1931 - Thursday

A big house last night, only 4 less rooms. It seems about half the force is going down the hill Sunday, 2 maids included. Being lucky I stay until the 20^th of next month. Washed this afternoon. Went to dance with George.

Letter postmarked Aug 20, 1931, Medford Oregon

Addressed to Mr. Geo. Hibbard, Crater Lake Resort, Crater Lake, Ore.

Hell—O/ How are you?

Sorry  you have not heard from me sooner, my secretary has been on vacation.

Am I sending that box of pears? Yes.

Now to get down to the business at hand. You know as well as I that it is the little things that count. To show you what I mean let me relate a little research work that I did at one time.

I base myself, first, as an authority on the theme, because of my wide experience in the realm of dog life through which I have become intimately acquainted with some of the more personal and finer feelings of this canine group. Second, I consider myself qualified to unfold these “undiscovered mysteries,” because of my ability to interpret the actions of this delicate organism, indicated as the “tip hear of a dog’s tail”.

For the purpose of ready understanding and easy reference, I have renamed this tip hair of dog’s tail, (commonly known as a dog hair, to the Finis in Malpighian.  The Finis in Malpighian has probably been with the dog as long as the has been endowed with a tail. Therefore, because it is the last hair on every dog in more ways than one, I have given it this name which means the final hair.

The Finis in Malpighian has three well difined purposes: The first objective is held by comparatively few dog ahirs; it is the most important aim, that of keeping the tip of the dog’s tail warm. The second design, is the power of demonstrating the passing emotions of the dog. This easily illustred by the dog coming upon the new arrival in the neighborhood; every hair on the dog’s back bristles, and the Finis in Malpighian also shows distinct signs of agitation……

JANE'S NOTE: This is a long three page letter that continues this silly tale. It must be either a college or high school friend that was writing to Dad his first summer at Crater Lake. It is signed Charles Barnes.  There are several from this same person, all pretty silly and not about my parents so will skip transcribing them. Saved with all the other letters.