Muva: Same Number Baskets

The picnic basket sneezed.

“Pff!”

Muva peered underneath it. Two little wicker feet popped out and wiggled.

“Not yet!” she said. “I haven't packed you!”

Hello, little friend. Ori here. Come close. Muva's picnic was about to leave without her.

There were two walking baskets in her barn. When they held the same number of things, they marched side by side. Different numbers made them hop and turn in circles. Holding a basket's handle kept its feet still.

Muva held both handles. Both baskets waited.

“I'm taking lunch to the apple tree,” she told Bodi. “You always help everyone. Today I want to do something for you. All by myself.”

Bodi tucked two cups into his bag, then something soft that gave a little squeak.

“I'll bring the blanket,” he said. “And a little something for a very busy friend.”

Muva was already choosing carrots. She didn't hear the last part.

Muva parked the baskets with their handles under a wooden bar. She put three carrots into the first basket, close together. Their leafy tops made a wonderful, enormous tuft.

Into the second went three ears of corn, spread apart.

But that basket looked so much emptier.

“Bodi should get a nice full one,” she said.

She tucked in another ear of corn. It knocked against the others and slipped under a loose corn husk.

Muva lifted the bar.

Boing!

The carrot basket hopped left. The corn basket hopped right. Both spun around.

“The apple tree is that way!”

She pointed. The baskets spun.

She pointed with both front hooves.

The baskets spun some more.

“Perhaps you need a little push.”

Muva nudged the carrot basket toward the door. It turned neatly around her and nudged her right back in the bottom.

“Oh!”

Her bell gave one surprised ding.

The corn basket bumped a rolled picnic blanket by the door. The blanket began to unroll. Over it hopped the carrots. Over it hopped the corn.

Now lunch was rolling out its own road.

Muva caught one handle, then the other.

Stillness.

One carrot leaf settled on her nose.

She puffed it away.

Bodi came through the doorway and stepped over the blanket.

“Would you like a paw?” he asked.

“I've got them,” Muva said quickly. “This is your picnic. You're supposed to rest.”

“All right. I'm right here.”

Bodi sat beside the door. Muva tried to peek into the corn basket, but its handle pulled the lid almost shut. To open it, she needed to let go.

She let go.

Boing!

The corn basket hopped onto the blanket again, dragging a fold along beneath it. Muva caught the handle. The basket stopped with one wicker foot in the air.

Muva's ears drooped.

She had two handles to hold and a lid to open. She could not do all three at once.

“I wanted you to say, ‘Muva made me a picnic,’” she whispered. “Not, ‘Bodi helped make his own lunch.’”

Bodi waited. He didn't reach for the lid.

Muva looked at his resting paws. Then at the two handles in hers.

“Could you hold just this handle?” she asked. “Then I can find out what's wrong.”

“This one?”

“Yes. Keep it still, please.”

Bodi held the corn basket. Muva held the carrot basket. For the first time, she had a free hoof to lift the lid.

Inside the corn basket, something shifted with a small wooden knock.

Muva lifted the loose husk.

“There you are.”

The extra ear of corn lay underneath.

She remembered putting it there. She had wanted the basket to look full. Then she had been so busy chasing lunch that she hadn't checked what was inside.

“I'll check them together,” she said. “Please keep holding.”

Muva touched a carrot, then an ear of corn.

“One for you. One for me.”

Another carrot. Another ear of corn.

“One for you. One for me.”

The last carrot. Another ear of corn.

“One for you. One for me.”

There was still one ear of corn left over.

Muva took it out and set it in Bodi's bag for later. She spread the carrots apart, just to check. Each still had an ear of corn to go with it.

“Their leaves fooled me,” she said. “Big and fluffy isn't more lunch.”

Bodi's nose twitched beneath the enormous carrot tuft.

“It might be more mustache.”

Muva giggled. Her shoulders loosened.

She closed the lids herself.

“On three, we let go together. One, two, three!”

Tip-tap. Tip-tap.

The baskets marched straight across the blanket.

Once they stepped off it, Bodi gathered up the blanket and his bag.

Muva's mouth fell open. Then her whole face opened into a smile.

“They're doing it! Bodi, we're taking lunch for a walk!”

Muva hurried ahead to open the garden gate. Through marched the carrots and the corn, with Bodi following, blanket under his arm.

Muva led lunch all the way to the apple tree. There, she parked both basket handles beneath the wooden picnic bench while Bodi spread the blanket.

Four little wicker feet tucked themselves away.

Lunch had arrived.

Bodi took the soft thing out of his bag. It was a cushion.

He put it beside him, in the shade.

“For our very busy picnic maker,” he said.

Muva stood beside the baskets.

“But I still have to—”

She looked at the blanket. The cups. The lunch, safely parked.

There wasn't anything she had to do.

“You brought that for me?”

“I hoped you'd sit next to me.”

Muva sat down. The cushion squeaked again, and this time they both laughed.

Bodi took a carrot.

“Muva made me a picnic,” he said.

Muva leaned against his warm, furry side.

“With a little help holding the handles.”

“My favorite job,” said Bodi.

Under the bench, the baskets stayed quiet. Up in the apple tree, a leaf rustled. And Muva had her first bite of the picnic she had been so busy making.

When your hooves are full, you can ask a friend to hold one handle. A little help doesn't make your kindness any smaller.