It wasn’t intentional. You can tell by looking at her. She’s just worn out from our run; sacked out on the red clay, too tired to go on with it.
I came around to let her know we were headed to home, and supper. Worth the energy to make a move.
And then I saw it — the clod of red clay that had somehow attached itself to her eye, for all the world like a patch, or perhaps a poultice.
It”s Maggie, just being Maggie.