I struggled with writer's cramp/block/laziness this week, so I'm surprised I got this far and I'm still able to participate. This is what happens when one forgets that Friday follows after Thursday and one still thinks it's Wednesday.
I offer the following in response: Roots of the Wild Pecan
The Louisiana air gripped the land as if afraid to let go. Dixie and her brother paid the humid weather little notice, delighting instead in butterfly races and the kaleidoscope of leafy shadows the sun traced into the grass. They frolicked together, ignoring working bees, until Buddy bit her leg. She let him alone then, able as she was to get into trouble of her own accord.
Dixie romped solo through the trees until a destructive need took root. Soon, she stood at the edge of her newly-made hole, the mound of displaced dirt and grasses a mountain behind her heels. The wild pecan tree provided both shade and a wealth of rock-shaped fungi in its roots. She bounced happily at the discovery of the truffles, delighting in the pungent, earthy musk that coated the inside of her nose.
Nearby, birds disturbed the undergrowth and startled her to stillness. Her ears strained at the cacophony, listening until the purpose of her dig faded from her memory. Confusion settled into her bones. It was her hole, a recent hole, but she brought no treasure to bury. Sitting on her mountain, she whimpered and looked to Buddy for explanation.
A distant whistle trilled. “Dix! Bud! Come on!”
Dixie barked and careful to keep her head up high so her ears wouldn’t trip her awkward puppy feet, she raced Buddy for their person. A treat and a scratch behind the ears would be waiting for both of them.