"Welp," Smush said, with a sigh of satisfaction. "It's finished."
"What's finished?" Mogey inquired.
"This!" Smush cried, pointing violently at the pile of mud. Mogey could tell Smush was devastated by the question, mainly because he began filling his hat with mud in a despondent manner.
"Oh of course," Mogey said, "this... sculpture..." Smush's ears pricked up, "of... me?" Smush nodded expectantly. "And... you? Riding a... hawk?"
"It's actually a falcon," Smush replied smugly. "But I wouldn't expect a novice in both mud art and ornithology like yourself to know the difference."
That day and every Tuesday afterward, Smush came back out to the garden under cover of darkness and gave his mud sculpture a single, prideful pat on the head, the kind of pat a man gives to the best chimichanga he's ever made and then eaten in a single bite.
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I demand more Mogey and Smush!
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