Tuesday, June 2, 2009


Stuck! you wailed. Mama! Stuck!
Then you started to cry.

I rushed to where you were, on the deck, the Beagle by your side.

You were stuck up to your armpit in the green watering can, your shoulder-blade tucked tight against the rim of the can.

The watering can was full of water. And so was your arm.

I dislodged your arm, wrung out your shirt, and kissed your tears.

A half-minute later, Stuck! you wailed. Mama! Stuck!

Your other arm was now fully immersed in the green watering can.

Now, I am not sure which one of us is the fool; you, sweetheart, for doing the exact same thing twice, or me, for not moving the watering can.

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