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Unfinished Business

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Not yet, I plead.

Don’t rush me, momma. This, I try to impress upon her, is important.

“Come on, sweet pup,” she calls me. There’s a scent on the bark of our beech tree and I am trying to decipher it. I ignore her second request.

She comes closer to cajole me. Now I am determined. Stubborn. Slightly annoyed. I have unfinished business to attend.

I back out from under the branches. I look her in the eye. Momma, why must you hurry me?

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