by Kathy Sattem Rygg -
Peter Perkins plodded his way through the pumpkin patch. As far as he could see, plump orange-colored polka dots surrounded him. Peter carefully peered at each one. He knew precisely what size he wanted.
“This one’s perfect!” Peter finally said, poking at it with his finger.
“It’s pretty big,” said his mother. “Perhaps you should find a more petite one.”
“No, I want this one,” Peter said. “Pleeeease!”
His mother paused and looked into Peter’s puppy-dog eyes.
“All right,” she said, pursing her lips.
Peter reached down and grabbed the pointy stem.
“Ouch! It’s prickly!” he said.
Peter’s mother picked it up and placed it in Peter’s arms.
“Be careful,” she warned. “It’s particularly heavy. Don’t drop it.”
“I won’t,” Peter promised.
Peter proudly carried his precious pumpkin toward the car. Suddenly, he stepped in a pothole and pitched forward. The pumpkin plummeted out of his arms.
Plunk! The pumpkin hit the ground.
“Oh no!” Peter said. Luckily, the pumpkin didn’t explode. But it began rolling down the path. The pumpkin gained speed, and Peter ran after it, picking up the pace.
The pumpkin rolled onto Mr. Farmer’s property and headed straight for a pigpen. A pungent smell filled the air.
“P.U.!” Peter said...
