Sul sul, readers!
The Gnome gods - well at least one liked pie.This week in my ongoing saga of “why my life feels like a sitcom written by llamas,” I somehow managed to offend the Gnome Gods. Yes, those gnomes — the ones that mysteriously appear around Harvestfest, stare into your soul, and demand tributes like tiny judgmental overlords.
Naturally, I thought, “Hey, who doesn’t like pie?” Pie is the friendliest of all pastries! Flaky, warm, comforting… practically a hug you can eat. Apparently, however, the gnome gods consider pie a grievous insult. The moment I set it down, ZAP! Lightning straight to the fingertips. I yelped, “Frabbitty noo!” and begged forgiveness, but alas — the gnome gods are not merciful. Their only response? A chorus of “Hooba noobie floo!” before vanishing into thin air.
Meanwhile, Poe continues his ongoing feud with the local wildlife. He’s now been sprayed by skunks twice this week, and as if eau de skunk weren’t enough, he’s also collected two more squirrel bites for his growing medical résumé. At this point, the squirrels must be running a secret fight club in the yard. “Dag dag, Poe,” they whisper, before launching themselves at him.
On a brighter note, thank you to my dear readers who suggested Wellness Treats and pills for my poor, accident-prone fluffballs. Genius idea! I just have one question: do they home-deliver them? And, more importantly, can I set up a recurring monthly subscription? Because let’s be real — with Inkwell’s dramatic vet visits and Poe’s “squirrel-snack” tendencies, I’ll need them in bulk.
Until next time, wish me luck with the gnomes, the squirrels, and keeping Poe from becoming Eau de Skunk #3.
Dag dag,
—Clara
P.S. If you hear maniacal laughter in Willow Creek, it’s probably the squirrels. Or the gnomes. Or both. Shooflee wumplesnort.
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