Mother always liked roses.

She would love these. He didn't know what color they were, if they were five petaled or fully frilled, but Mother just loved the smell and any pretty flower would do. The spiny, thorned bush was small and young, so it had a good chance of staying alive after being uprooted. It was best to get it done quickly, though. Fall was already here. The ground was growing steadily stiffer and the plants were bedding down for the winter. This little bush needed to get to its new home soon, where Mother would love and appreciate it forever.

Shepherd hesitated, scratching at the ground idly with a white paw, pale citrus green eyes warily regarding the nearly bald bush. Roses. They were lovely and had the most wonderful scent, but those thorns... He could remember the first time he figured out that rose bushes had thorns and could almost feel the stinging pain in his fleshy pink nose now. But... this was for Mother and he really couldn't refuse. Not now.

Dusty slate ears folded back tentatively as the boy ducked down and began digging at the base of the little bush, soft, high-pitched whines escaping his muzzle whenever he felt the sharp prick of a little spike. Something so beautiful - well, beautiful in the other seasons when it was in full bloom - should not hurt so much. At least, that was how he felt on the matter. It was just... Why?

The young wolf worked vigorously for several minutes, earth shooting up under his stomach with each pull of his dainty white paws and jaws parting to make way for a lolling tongue and heavy panting. Even in Autumn, even in the shade of the forest's edge, physical work burned and heated the silvery blue male. He had been digging a lot today. It was a good feeling to work his muscles and took his mind off of other... things. Sometimes, manual labor was just what he needed. Sometimes, like today.

The boy stopped for a moment, stepping back to take stock of his progress. He had made an elbow-deep hole in a ring about three-quarters of the way around the little rose bush. The spiny plant was leaning precariously into the newly opened space, it's roots no longer supported by the earth except for a very small portion. It wouldn't take too long to get the rest done, but now was a good a time as any for a short break. After all, he had been digging since shortly after the sun had risen and his body was beginning to protest defiantly.

Shepherd gave his long, silky coat a brisk shake, the white ring of fur around the base of his neck puffing out like a mane for a second before flattening back down neatly to his body. He lowered himself to his haunches and lifted a forepaw, beginning to bathe the dirty mess busily. Mother couldn't bathe him anymore, so it was his job and he would rather keep clean than wait until he was irrevocably dirty. Cleanliness is godliness, or so she would say. He had never argued and wasn't about to now... not when she lay in the ground for the long sleep.