Hey there!

Just a quick update from your roving heroine, Teenka. I’ve just surfed a tidal wave of mystery in Spencerville, plunged through a moonless shimmer with our furry fellowship, and tasted the forbidden ice cream of Pupsicle Mountain. Normal Tuesday? I think not. Home now, pondering the orb’s call for future escapades. P.S. Peas still stink. Adventure is where it’s at!

Tail wags and purrs,
Teenka 🐾

Listen to the story here

Spencerville, my dearest comrades, is every inch the enchantment it’s cracked up to be—save for the odd twist of fate that left our collars tingling. A pinprick in the fabric of our pristine world, if you will, and I, Teenka, your Yorkshire guardian of the uncanny, found myself smack in the middle of it.

It all began on a Tuesday so ordinary one might yawn at the mere mention of it. The sun played its usual game of hide and seek, whilst I lounged beneath my beloved oak, that great philosopher of trees, contemplating the ever-elusive flavor of an impeccable chicken cutlet.

The earth moved beneath my paws, and no, I’m not speaking metaphorically. It trembled, quivered, and I, with my lioness heart, stood my ground. The birds halted mid-aria and the air grew thick with whispers of the unknown.

Oliver slunk by, his tail a question mark scripting queries in the air. “Teenka,” he purred. “Do you feel it in your bones? The shiver of otherworldliness?”

I could downright taste the tang of mystery, a flavor far more intriguing than my archenemy, the pea. “Indeed,” I barked back. “We shan’t let it be. To the adventure that beckons!”

Off we trotted, his feline grace complementing my spirited scamper, Maisie bounding beside us, her golden locks a banner of courage.

Our pursuit led us to Black Bulldog Bay, where dogs aren’t known to tread lightly. Sniffs told tales of wonder, but it was the sight that caught us wholly unprepared—a curious shimmering in the waters, like moonlight’s reflection, yet bereft of moon.

We exchanged glances, a silent agglomeration of furry brows furrowed in inquisition. Then, the orb emerged, pulsating with a rhythm akin to a heartbeat, and the air hummed with the electricity of anticipation.

“It’s a gateway, I reckon,” Maisie howled, ever the romantic. I concurred, for what else could it be in a world such as ours?

One by one, we approached; adventurer’s spirit outweighing any semblance of caution. The orb pulsed stronger, drawing us forth as moths to the proverbial—

And then, in a lickety-split moment, it sucked us in, a whirlpool of unknown destination.

Evelyn would be baking her rolls, perhaps considering a forlorn pea placement in my bowl, unbeknownst to her that her little Teenka had hopped onto the ride of a lifetime.

When we emerged, the world was like ours but not—twisted, strange, where hydrants sang and mailboxes conversed in haughty tones. Pupsicle Palace was a mountain, the ice cream like snow at its peak, free for the licking.

Confounded though we were, delightful it became, to traipse through a mirror of home, beguiled by our reflections staring back through the looking glass.

Our journey back was a tail for another day, embellished, no doubt, by Maisie’s knack for drama. Suffice to say, we returned with our tales wagging and an anecdote rich enough to bedazzle the dinner hour.

Back beneath my oak, serenaded by the whispers of the world I know, the stranger things receded like a dream upon waking. Yet the orb is out there, softly glowing with the promise of worlds unknown, waiting for a brave soul and a heart with the roar of a lioness.

As for peas, they remain a dot on the culinary landscape of my bowl, untouched, while adventure tastes infinitely sweeter upon my tongue.

The End.