“That will do nicely,” announces Mitch, pointing to a bench by a kids’ play park. A picket fence surrounds an area set out with swings, slides and small metal zoo animals on springs. “Adam and Cara can play in there while we have our lunch. And I can give Vicky her feed too.”
Bear groans pleasure, padding around, sniffing at this and that before stretching out, full-length in a sunny spot. Mitch decants Adam and Cara from their shared stroller. My daughter, I notice, has reins pre-clipped onto a harness, I presume against attempts at a break for freedom.
I set Vicky’s buggy in a sunny spot next to the bench. Mitch immediately moves it into the shade of an overhanging tree and raises the hood. “She’ll burn if you leave her in the sun like that.”
Unclipping the bag-of-holding-all-things s
