Pip gathers the reddest strawberries from his garden. He fills the tiny woven basket to the brim. The sweet berry scent follows him toward the path.
His paws hover over the doorknob. Then they retreat. A cool breeze brushes his quills.
Pip drags the basket to Clover's gate. The latch is stuck. He pushes, he tugs, he wiggles.
Click! The gate swings open and the basket tips over. Berries scatter everywhere. A beetle marches right through the mess.
Pip sighs. He rolls the remaining strawberries toward the door one by one. But they roll past and bounce toward the village road.
Pip drags the remaining strawberries back home. He hides the basket behind his door.
He climbs into bed and stares at the ceiling. He counts the slats: one, two, three...
The next morning, Pip opens his door and finds a single wildflower on his step. Its petals are gold and pink. A small smile crosses his face as he watches the garden wake up.