The Journal

Smudge and Biscuit had been walking for what felt like at least seven hours. Possibly eight. Maybe nine.

Smudge wiped his brow dramatically. “This,” he declared, “is the longest journey anyone has ever taken… in the history of journeys.”

Biscuit gave him a look: Stop being dramatic.

Their house was still perfectly visible behind them.

Mum stood in the window, holding a cup of tea, watching them. She looked wonderfully proud of her brave little adventurer… who was currently nineteen steps from home. Smudge waved. Biscuit wagged. Mum waved back.

Smudge cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should… um… take a short break. We don’t want to overdo it, do we?”

Biscuit rolled his eyes but indicated his agreement by sitting down with a plop.

Smudge dropped onto the grass and swung his backpack round. “Let’s see what Mum packed.”

Out came the sandwiches: two beautifully wrapped creations, triangular, symmetrical, crusts neatly cut off—Mum knew Smudge appreciated good geometry.

“Oh!” Smudge gasped. “What’s this?”

Hidden beneath the snacks was a small wrapped parcel. Smudge inspected it from every angle, then tore it open.

Inside was a small, sturdy journal with a deep blue cover and faint geometric patterns pressed into the front. Tucked neatly inside was a folded note:

“For your adventure. Record everything you discover along the way for me.
—Mum”

Smudge appreciated the thought, but was not overly impressed—mainly because journals required writing. Long, wordy writing. His absolute nemesis.

He closed the journal with a soft whump.

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t have to be perfect, does it? Let me see what I can do.”

Setting the journal aside, Smudge dug into the sandwiches. They were delicious. Too delicious. Smudge knew he shouldn’t eat them all at once. He absolutely knew. Mum had definitely intended them to last longer than five minutes.

But the sandwiches were so symmetrical. So perfect. So there.

“I’ll save half,” Smudge declared bravely.

He took a careful bite.

Then another.

Then a not-so-careful bite.

And suddenly both sandwiches—and half the snacks—were gone.

Biscuit stared at him in disbelief. His tail paused mid-wag.

Smudge shrugged.

Biscuit huffed through his nose, the universal dog sign for: And where is mine?