“Amy! Put the squirrel down!”
Amy dropped the squirrel but stood over it hanging her head. The squirrel moved one tiny arm as if to wave hello.
This always happened on their walks. Amy would fall in love with something and not want to let it go – a squirrel, a fallen branch, someone’s mail. This made walking difficult and often embarrassing.
Across the street, a man in a red jacket shouted, “Watch out for the potholes. They are very deep!”
The pothole’s water stirred, the fins of yellow fish barely visible. Amy watched, having left the squirrel behind, weakly waving.