By Amy Browne
Copyright 2012 Amy Browne
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Three days later with her arms full of wood, Paisley used her amble backside to shut the door, blocking out the bitter cold. Paisley shuffled across the living room floor with the cumbersome load as quickly as her short but solid legs could move.
“I wish I could snap my fingers and have the wood appear,” Paisley muttered after depositing the wood, “but my magic does not work here.”
Paisley, struggling to catch her breath, shuffled over to her rocking chair. Seated, she used her toes to pull the ottoman close enough to rest her feet on before reclining her back into the comfort of the cushion.