What is Daisy burying in the garden? Is it a toy from the dog next door? I conceal myself in a bush. At first this seems like a sensible thing to do. But the longer I stand there, the more stupid I feel. Stupid and ashamed. I have transgressed. I watch Daisy nudge and scratch and work at the soil. She is deep in her task. When she has finished, she scampers back past me up into the light. She does not turn my way. We share no glance. No acknowledgement. There is no calling of names. I hold my breath. I step out and take a look. The earth in pieces and drifting. So that’s what you’ve been burying, Daisy! I say. Our trust.