“What is it?”
Mum pestered from her wheel-chair, she was planted at the top of the garden like a shrub.
“Just lot’s of weeds, mum.”
A set of teeth, a tiny skull, a worm wriggling in an eye socket.
“Don’t over water the marigolds this time!”
I resurrected a tattered old collar, the name tag hanging from it like new.
A lump choked my throat like the weeds choked the hyacinths.
“But you told me Buddy went to live on Mr. Benson’s farm!”