Prize

I am in the back yard. I am sniffing around. Today the sniffing is routine -- some ants, some leaves. Then I come across it. It is greasy and particularly smelly. It has been dead for some time. It is small enough to carry in my mouth.

I take it into the mud room and sit on my bed. I put my prize down so I can guard it. Duncan is mildly curious.

Mommy comes in from outside. Somehow I know this is not a prize she will want me to keep. I grab it again, but she sees, and comes toward me. "What is that?" she asks.

She comes closer. I am torn between wanting to keep my prize and wanting to please Mommy. Right now I am trapped in the end of the mud room. Mommy is in front of me and Duncan is to the side. The chances of me escaping to the yard to play with my prize are thin. Mommy says, "Drop it." I obey.

Mommy looks closely at my prize. I see that she sees its greatness. She says, "Oh, poor little dead bird!" Then she picks it up, takes a trowel off of the shelf, and walks with my prize out the front door. Duncan and I do not follow.