Mabel’s Painted Egg — Under the warm porch step, Mabel rubbed her cheek against a plain wooden egg. Tap, tap—one old dot flaked off and fell like dust. Read the full story →
Under the warm porch step, Mabel rubbed her cheek against a plain wooden egg. Tap, tap—one old dot flaked off and fell like dust. She wanted the egg bright again before Grandma woke from her nap, so she carried it into the dewy garden.
The grass tickled her belly. A tulip left yellow pollen on her paw, a daisy gave a soft white smudge, and a wet leaf painted green stripes. Mabel’s whiskers drooped when mud splashed one side. “Oh, no,” she whispered.
Then she pressed her paw right over the splash. Pat-pat, dot-dot, stripe-stripe—her own pattern bloomed. She carried the egg home, damp paws and all, and curled beside it under the warm porch step. Look near the decorated egg; you can almost see where Mabel pressed each proud little paw.