Finding the Fun Outside

"Wiggles," Zoia said, her voice a little wobbly, as she watched her mother carefully dabbing at the rug with a damp cloth. The smell of something vaguely flowery, but mostly just *wet*, hung in the air. Wiggles, who had been looking very pleased with himself just moments before, now sat with his ears drooped, his tail tucked between his legs like a shy furry question mark. He nudged Zoia’s hand with his wet nose, a silent plea for forgiveness.

Zoia’s mother sighed, a sound that was a mix of tired and a little bit grumpy. "Honey," she began, her voice softer now, "we've talked about this, haven't we? Wiggles is a dog. Dogs are wonderful, and they make the best friends, but they belong *outside* for most of their playtime." She gestured around the living room, which, despite her cleaning efforts, still sported a faint damp patch and a few stray dog hairs clinging stubbornly to the sofa. "See? Accidents happen. And sometimes, those accidents involve things that are hard to clean, or might even break." She gave a pointed look towards the spot where the vase had made its dramatic exit.

Zoia chewed on her lip, her gaze fixed on Wiggles’ sad, puppy-dog eyes. He looked so heartbroken, and she felt a little heartbroken too. It wasn't fair! Wiggles was *her* best friend, and best friends should get to play together whenever they wanted. But she also saw the tired lines around her mother’s eyes, and she remembered the crash of the vase. It had been a bit scary, even if Wiggles had looked so funny trying to catch the falling pieces with his mouth.