“…9, 10, 11…and that’s 12. We’re missing one.”
“It will be dark soon,” Lissa said grimly.
Joe smiled. “Don’t worry Mom, I’ll find her.”
Joe walked toward the tall grass of the swales softly calling for Yellow.
They all liked to hunt grasshoppers in the prairie grass.
“Here chick, chick! Here Yellow!”
But Yellow…Yellow was Joe’s favorite. If she was gone…well, he wouldn’t think about that.
After searching for more than 20 minutes, Joe started to doubt he’d find her. The soft orange glow of the horizon did nothing to calm his nerves. Once darkness blanketed the homestead, the chance of finding her alive was less than likely.
He knew he had to face the possibility that Yellow was gone. Had she been taken? Had she run away? Had she been…killed?
With a heavy sigh, Joe turned back to the house to deliver the bad news to his mom.
Yellow was gone.
He walked by the pond and heard the soft rustle of grass, swaying in the wind.
Wait. There was no wind. It had died down to a bare breeze with the setting of the sun.
Hope sprang to his heart. His eyes brightened as he walked slowly to the source of the rustle.
There she was, cowering in the crispy brown prairie grass.
Joe smiled, sighing happily. He’d found her. His Yellow.
He spent the next 15 minutes trying to catch her.
Afterall, just because Joe likes Yellow, doesn’t mean Yellow likes Joe.