This afternoon, I was out in the backyard, enjoying a long overdue telephone chat with a faraway friend. I heard Huck squawk and looked up from the flower bed to see Rilla clutching him by the head, both hands locked in his curls. She was attempting to yank him upward and he was quite understandably outraged by this.
I called to her to let go of him. It really looked like she was hauling hard on his head. She gave me a sharp look, a frown of confusion and disbelief, as if she were aghast at my interference. But she let go and took a step back, leaving the baby in peace.
At which point Huck ducked his head down to a puddle of dirty rainwater pooled in a hollow in the base of the kids’ basketball hoop. And began slurping.
Um, as you were, Rilla. My bad.
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From the Archives: Thanksgiving