No Dot, by Alan Beard

Tiny frogs jump over, camouflaged, through hedge and garden. Mowing the lawn, cutting the hedge is a hazard. Once, using secateurs, he cut one in half, its big-eyed head still gasping with half a body and no back legs. His daughter sees it, he explains it was an accident. She takes it in her stride. She buries the half frog, says a prayer to the frog god. The day before she buried the huge wings and head of a dragonfly separated from its abdomen by their mad aggressive cat. The abdomen a yellow and black exclamation mark with no dot.