The Tragic End of Sticky

Two days ago, Adam and I were busy pulling weeds out of the berry patch. Well, I was busy pulling. Adam was busy making friends with a 7-foot stick he named “Sticky.” Apparently, Sticky and Adam were instant best friends (in Adam’s words) and I was even privy to some conversations that Adam and Sticky had. Of course, I could only hear Adam’s side of the conversation…


Eventually, Adam “planted” sticky into the ground and did a remarkably good job of it, too. Adam and I moved on to pull some weeds out of the vegetable garden to the west of our house and said our adieus to Sticky. While in the west garden, Adam pointed out that another stick in that garden was Sticky’s daddy.
 
Last night, as it was David’s night off of school, the three of us returned to the berry patch to burn up the piles of dead brush and last year’s weeds I had been clearing out the previous day. About an hour into our cleanup, suddenly Adam remembered the existence of Sticky who was, of course, no more…
 
“Where’s Sticky?!?” Adam begins semi-frantic search, accurately remembering that Sticky had been planted somewhat close to where David’s burn pile was now beginning to snuff out.
 
David and I hide pained-but-amused looks.
“Maybe Sticky just went to visit his friends in the other garden…” I weakly try.
Adam pauses a moment while standing and contemplating the burn pile.
 
“Or maybe daddy ‘fired’ Sticky,” Adam correctly surmises.
Oops!