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.