there's a rabbit in our yard. It's mucky and grey--and dead! I think it's the Carlsons' pet.
That afternoon, I gave my students 30 minutes of Read-What-You-Want and one hour of Do-Your-Own-Art-Thing -And-Don't-Bug-Me
When I got home, I found the rabbit in our mud-room. But it definitely didn't look dirty. It sat on all fours, and its fur looked fluffy, clean, and silky. I bent over, peering closely, to make sure it was really dead.
In the lane, I met Mrs. Carlson. She waved for me to stop my car. My heart beat accelerated. I felt sweaty. My hands and feet felt cold.