©2010 Jennifer D. Porter
THREE — BARK, BARK, BARK!
The heat spread from the center of Rue’s back to the tip of his tail then to the tips of his ears. The songbirds sang so loud it was as if they were in the nest with him. The sunshine made the insides of his eyelids bright orange. He coughed from a scratchy throat and tried to bury his head in Momma’s pile, away from the morning, but the pile was gone. The breeze floated along his fur and lifted its strands for a second or two. It fluttered through the leaves above him. He could not help but sniff and sniff the sweet smell the breeze carried with it. He tried to open his eyes, but the strong light hurt them.
“Momma,” Rue whispered.
He gave Momma a few seconds to answer, since she might just be hopping back. Then he said a little louder, “Momma? Can you hear me?”
Rue rubbed his eyes then opened one after the other. The sunshine made everything glow fuzzy for what seemed like forever. “Momma!” Then a little louder, “Momma!”
The crinkly, gray bark of the silver maple rose up into the light green leaves flittering so very high above him in the pale blue sky. A screech sounded from amongst the wispy clouds, and a chill raced along Rue’s spine and deep into his heart. “Momma!” he shouted. “Where are you?”
Rue took one step toward the tree. Their nest covering lay in wet clumps all around him on the bright green grass. Momma’s pile of grass and shed fur rolled with the breeze toward a pack of pokey bushes. “Momma! Where are you?”
Momma should have been back by now. She should be sleeping in their nest, snuggled close to Rue.
The outside world was utterly immense. Trees and more trees, acres and acres of trees, shrubs, grass. Trees dressed in flowers, trees of bright green and trees so tall they seemed to reach the sky. Trees with sharp needle branches and pinecones that could fall and squish a bunny so small. So many places Momma could be. How would he ever find her?
He slowly hopped away from their form beneath the silver maple. Everything around him had a different scent. Would he know her scent? Flowers, grass, moist dirt, earthworms, animal scents, bird droppings, humans. He stuck his nose in the damp grass and sniffed for her. It was too confusing. 
“Momma!” He sat back on his hind legs and stretched up off the ground, pulling his paws close into his chest.
He wondered if Momma could be underneath the wooden porch on the front of Mrs. Wilder’s white farmhouse with green shutters. It looked like a very good place to hide from a storm. A porch swing swayed and its chains creaked, but other than that, the house was quiet.
Rue began thumping his way over to the shadows beneath the porch. He stayed on Mrs. Wilder’s lawn and hopped toward the forsythia blooming in the flowerbed in front of the porch. The yellow-capped shrubs had spindly branches with pointed tips and some of those tips scratched at the ground.
Rue pressed himself as flat as