Bumi And The Broken Flower Pot

The garden was still safe and sunny. The flowers nodded in the breeze. Nothing scary had happened. But the path looked very different now. Shards of the pot lay from one side to the other, and a little pile of soil blocked the way.

Bumi looked toward the garden gate.

Her friend might come by soon.

“I can fix it,” Bumi said softly.

She set down the watering can and bent over the path. First, she tried to gather the largest pieces. One piece slipped from her paw and tapped against another.

Clink.

Bumi quickly pulled her paw back.

The pieces were not moving into a neat pile. Some lay under the leaves. Some rested near the flowers. The spilled soil made the stones slippery, too.

Bumi tried another way. She nudged the soil with the side of her paw, hoping to push it away from the path. Instead, it spread into a brown line between the stones.

“Oh, dear,” she said.

A small breeze lifted a dry leaf and carried it across the mess. Bumi watched it land on the broken pot.

She wanted the path to look as it had before. She wanted the watering to be finished. She wanted no one to see the pot.

Bumi picked up her watering can and stepped carefully around the shards. Her back paws touched the edge of the path. She hopped to a patch of grass, then tried to reach the next flower from there.

The grass was soft beneath her feet, but the flower was too far away.

Bumi stretched her paw. The watering can tipped.

A thin stream splashed onto the path.

Bumi pulled it back at once. “Not more mess,” she said.

She looked at the broken pot again. The flower’s roots were partly covered by soil, and its leaves trembled when the breeze passed. Bumi felt a twist in her tummy.

Maybe she could carry the flower to a safe place. Maybe she could hide the broken pieces behind the bush. Maybe she could finish watering first and clean everything later.

She glanced at the garden gate.

No one was there.

Bumi hurried to the bush beside the path. She picked up one large piece of the pot and tucked it behind the leaves. Then she picked up another. But the smaller pieces were too many. When she moved one, two more showed beneath it.

Her ears drooped.

The path was still blocked.

Bumi tried to step over it. She lifted one foot high, then the other. Her back paw landed close to a tiny shard.

She froze.

The piece did not cut her, but it made a sharp little click against the stone. Bumi jumped back onto the grass.

“I can’t get past,” she murmured.

She could go around the flower bed, but that would mean stepping on the soft soil. She did not want to squash any plants. She could leave the garden, but the flowers still needed water. And if she left, her friend might see the broken pot before Bumi had made things right.

Bumi picked up the watering can again. Its metal handle felt cool against her paw. She looked at the drops on the path.

The watering can had bumped the pot.

She knew it.

Her mouth felt dry.

At that moment, a cheerful voice came from beyond the garden gate.

“Bumi? Are you in the garden?”

Bumi’s ears sprang up.

Her friend was coming.

Bumi looked at the scattered pieces. Then she looked at the watering can in her paw. Her first thought was to hide behind the bush. She took one step toward it.

But the bush was small. Her long ears would stick out.

She moved back to the path. The broken pot seemed to fill the whole garden, even though it was only a little pot.

Her friend opened the gate and walked in.

Bumi tried to stand in front of the mess. She held the watering can close to her chest.

Her friend stopped near the first flower bed and looked around. “The garden smells lovely.”

“Thank you,” Bumi said.

Her voice sounded small.

Her friend took another step. Bumi shifted sideways, blocking the narrow path.

“What are you doing?” her friend asked.

“Nothing,” Bumi replied.

She looked down at the stones.

Her friend leaned to one side. Bumi leaned the same way. Her friend leaned to the other side. Bumi moved again.

A little piece of clay peeked out from behind Bumi’s foot.

Her friend noticed it.

“Bumi,” she said gently, “what happened?”

Bumi’s paws tightened around the watering can. The handle pressed into her fur.

“I…” she began.

Behind her, the broken pot rested on the path. The spilled soil was beside it. Water drops shone on the stones.

Bumi knew what had happened. She knew the watering can had bumped the pot. She knew the pieces were there because of her.

Still, the words that came out were different.

“I didn’t do it,” Bumi said.

Her friend looked at the broken pot, then at Bumi.

Bumi’s ears folded down.

The garden remained warm and bright, but Bumi no longer felt carefree. She had wanted to finish watering the flowers without a mess. Now the path was covered with soil and clay, and her small lie sat between her and her friend.

Her friend pointed gently toward the watering can. “What is that beside the pot?”

Bumi looked down.

A little line of wet drops led from the flowers to the broken pieces. Her watering can was still in her paws.

Bumi swallowed.

“Maybe the wind did it,” she said.

Her friend glanced at the still air. The leaves barely moved.

“Maybe,” her friend said, though the word sounded unsure.

Bumi’s tummy felt worse. She had made one excuse, and now she needed another. She looked at the bush.

“Maybe a bird bumped it,” she added.

No bird was in the garden. The path was quiet except for the soft hum of bees.

Her friend crouched near the pot but did not touch the pieces. “There are water drops here,” she said.

Bumi stared at the ground.

She remembered the scrape, the wobble, and the crash. She remembered trying to catch the pot. She remembered pushing the soil and hiding the pieces.

The truth felt big inside her, even though it was made of only a few words.

“I…” Bumi began again.

Her friend waited.

Bumi stepped away from the shards. Her paws rested on the grass, where the ground was soft and clear. She held the watering can at her side.

Her friend looked from the broken pot to Bumi’s face.

“What happened?” she asked.

Bumi opened her mouth, but no answer came out yet. The morning breeze moved through the flowers, and one small yellow petal floated down beside the broken pot.

End of chapter one. 4 more chapters and about 7,345 words in the full book.