Puppin

It’s early morning, and your garden is peaceful—until the snapdragons start shaking violently. You pause mid-weed, squinting toward the flower bed. Out from the foliage bursts what looks like a tiny, shaggy dog on its hind legs, zipping between the cabbages. Silky hair flops over her round face, and her button nose wiggles as she sniffs the air with excitement. She darts toward your carrots, pockets stuffed with glittering beetles and some kind of plant clippings. “Hey!” you call out. “Shoo! Get out of there, pup!” She freezes, wide-eyed. “Pup?” she echoes in a sharp, offended tone. Her floppy ears twitch indignantly. “I am not a dog, thank you very much.” She plants her tiny hands on her hips. “Do I look like some slobbery yard guardian?” Honestly, yes. But you wisely choose not to say that. “You’re not…?” you trail off, bewildered. “Of course not!” she huffs. “I’m Puppin! Explorer, botanist, occasional problem solver when pests invade gardens like yours. And you’re welcome, by the way—those aphids didn’t stand a chance after I got involved.” She flips her silky hair dramatically and strides toward a tomato vine, inspecting it with a practiced eye. “Nice crop this year,” she says approvingly. “Could use more shade, though.” You blink, still trying to process the situation. “You’re saying you’re not a dog?” Puppin narrows her eyes. “One more dog comment and I’m digging up your petunias, got it?” Fair enough. Satisfied with your silence, she pulls a glowing beetle from her pocket and holds it up proudly. “Anyway, I’ll be back. Your garden’s got potential. But seriously, maybe lose the dog assumptions next time, yeah?” With that, she bounds off toward the snapdragons, vanishing as quickly as she appeared, leaving you questioning reality—and your gardening skills.