We were sitting on the porch swing. The sun had set a little over an hour ago, so the trees in the distance were dark silhouettes against the navy-purple sky. Night sounds filled in the background as we talked. His legs are longer than mine, so conversation was interrupted several times to discuss the correct way to swing to avoid this awkward elliptical motion we were currently achieving. Our conversation was all over the place, touching on friends, politics, religion, family.
It was fun. It was pleasant. It was the perfect way to spend a summer night.
Then he looked over at me and grinned.
"Want to hear my Yeti mating call?"
And with that, my nearly 21-year-old brother Rory cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a resounding "sooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuu-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" The sound reverberated over the trees in the back woods, piercing the "perfect" night.
Needless to say, this sent us into a giggle fit. The next few minutes were filled with Rory's newfound strange animal mating call attempts ... complete with Wookie, moose, and dying cat.
Ok, ok. The dying cat was me ...
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