Sun Mote Copse rancho mirage

Skip could only really count to three, maybe four. He did that, then bounded forward with nary a care in the world at first, feeling absolutely liberated! But then he paused, ears tilting forward to catch the last of Towhee’s footfalls before they faded into the distance. He resisted the urge to pursue right away, instead counting to three again before dropping his nose and proceeding.

Her scent was a good guide, though before long, the terrain actually took on a comforting familiarity. He had wandered in ever widening circles around The Taigh these past few weeks since emerging from the den. He knew this divot! He was friends with this cluster of rocks! But that stick was new! Skip tripped over it.

He recovered quickly, then felt confident enough to break into a slow run. Right on cue, cold raindrops began to tumble from the sky. Skipjack hollered as the first few spattered his back. He raced ahead, grinning from ear to ear as he felt the familiar dirt and roots beneath his paws.

In fact, he swept right past his grandmother through the threshold, tumbling gleefully onto a deerskin as the rain picked up force. Skipjack’s pricked ears filled with its sweeping rush.