Backwoods Write in

Zen picked up the clay pot she had fashioned herself and placed it in the window. It had been filled to the brim with black dirt and a small sprout of a plant. Key word: had. Zen frowned when she saw the small fox she called Whoo curled with its tail under its belly. Now the dirt and plant were scattered on the cabins hard dirt floor. However, Zen wasn't mad because it wasn't the first time Whoo had knocked something over.
Humming to herself, Zen grabbed a broom she had made from dried grass and a long sturdy branch. She gently removed the small plant, roots and all, from the ground and placed it back in the pot. As she began to sweep the floor, Whoo pounced on the bristles of the broom. This was play time.
"Whoo," Zen scolded in the nicest voice ever. "I can't clean up your mess when you weigh down my broom." Zen took the heel of her shoe and hooked Whoo in the butt. "Off with you." The fox curled his tail again and scooted out of the cabin door.
Zen smiled. He had grown up too fast. She had found him, abandoned in the woods, while she was out looking for herbs and roots. She figured either his momma didn't want him or she was killed by a bigger creature. It took some convincing, but Zen coaxed him from the tiny log he called home. He was no bigger than a coffee mug with little muscle to cover his skinny frame. She wrapped him in her cloak and took the little guy home to nurture him.
He loved her cabin from the begining. She set him on her straw bed while she looked for something to feed him and when she turned around, he had disappeared. Whoo had found every possible item to get him in trouble, so Zen had to fashion him a little pen. It wasn't until that night that he had gotten his name.
The fox tried desperately to knaw out of his confined corner. He was too curious to stay penned up. However, it wasn't going to keep Zen from her night time activites. Quietly, she sang to herself while hanging a few of her herbs to dry. Suddenly, a large night time owl let off a loud call, "Whoo! WHOO!" The fox, with a mouth full of stuck fencing, panicked and scurried in the corner of his pen. He whimpered and cried.
"Did that mean old owl scare you?" Zen whimpered with him. She reached for a cotton cloth and wrapped the fox in it. She began to stroke his fur behind his head and calmed him down. "I shall call you Whoo," she told him. He calmed down and warmed up in her hands, never leaving her side.