Stories

It was the laziest kind of summer afternoon.
The kind that draped itself over the land like a warm blanket and whispered to everything,
“Don’t rush.”

The meadow hummed with bees. Dragonflies darted like little sparks of blue fire between the grasses. The breeze smelled like warm grass and clover, and the clouds overhead looked like sleepy sheep who’d wandered off for a nap and forgot how to come back.

Lumi was sprawled on her back in the sun, legs flopped in four different directions, looking more like a tossed scarf than a proud Lapinkoira. Her tongue lolled slightly from one side of her mouth. Every now and then, a lazy buzz from a bumblebee passed close enough to make one ear twitch.

Woodbine lay nearby, nose resting on a patch of moss that still held a hint of the morning’s dew. His eyes were half closed, but his ears were not fooled. They flicked precisely each time a fly dared buzz too near. He was not asleep. At least that's what he would have said, if anyone asked him.

Pollox, meanwhile, was deeply invested in his personal mission to extract whatever remaining squeak might still exist in his beloved and very un-squeaky ball. It had once been orange—bold and bright like a summer sunrise—but now it was… smudge-colored. A soft, grimy gray-orange that only a well-loved toy can achieve. He chewed it in thoughtful bursts.

Chew.
Pause.
Chew.

Paws steady, tail relaxed, ears occasionally perking just in case the ball finally relented.

Everything was perfect.

Until Pollox stood up suddenly, ears high and twitching, nose lifted to the breeze. He froze for a beat—like a statue sculpted from curiosity—then trotted off toward the edge of the meadow, leaving his ball behind in the clover.

“What are you doing?” Lumi asked, without opening her eyes.

“I smell something,” Pollox said, nose twitching faster now. “It’s not food. Or maybe it is. Or maybe it’s… paper?”

Woodbine raised an eyebrow without opening his eyes. “Paper doesn’t smell like food.”

“This one might,” Pollox said, already digging at the roots of an old birch tree that stood just beyond the shaded edge of the clearing.

A few pawfuls of dry leaves and moss later, he pulled out something crumpled and colorful. It fluttered in the breeze like a lazy bird, catching the sunlight in streaks of berry-stained red and grass-blotched green.

“A map!” Lumi said, suddenly wide awake. She bounded over, tail wagging, fur catching bits of dried grass as she skidded to a stop.

Woodbine stretched and rose more slowly. “Or a child’s drawing,” he said, peering at it. “That tree has eyes.”

“Exactly!” Pollox barked. “It’s a mystery map!”

At the top, written in crooked, cheerful letters with what looked like berry ink and jam smudges, was the title:

THE MIDSUMMER MAP – Do Not Follow
(Unless You’re Very Brave and Also Maybe Silly)

Lumi’s eyes sparkled.
Pollox’s tail wagged in fast little bursts.
Woodbine sniffed the paper, then the air. “It’s fresh,” he murmured. “Not just a daydream. There’s fox here. And something else… mint? Mischief, most likely.”

Pollox pointed his nose at the first line:

1. Find the Giggle Tree. Do not bark. It might laugh back.

Lumi grinned. “Well? What are we waiting for?”

Woodbine sighed. “Common sense. But I suppose that never stopped us before.”

Lumi snatched up the map, and off they went—tails high, paws light, hearts curious. Behind them, the meadow buzzed on, and the orange ball lay basking in the sun.

-

The path wound between tall ferns and berry bushes. The air was cooler here, and somewhere far off, a woodpecker was having a one-bird percussion concert.

The Giggle Tree stood alone at the edge of a glade, its trunk twisty like it had once been tickled by the wind and never recovered. It leaned like a bowing performer. Its bark was covered in knot-holes—some winking, some surprised—and its branches creaked in a way that almost sounded like snickering.

Lumi circled it cautiously. “Should we… knock?”

Pollox gave the tree a sniff. “I think it smells funny.”

Woodbine squinted at the map. “It says not to bark.”

Pollox barked.

The tree snorted.

All three dogs jumped back.

“Did it just—” Lumi began.
“Laugh?” Woodbine said.
“I think so,” Pollox whispered. “Do it again!”

He barked twice more. The tree gave a low, rumbly chuckle and dropped three pinecones on their heads.

They all burst into laughter.

Pollox tried to balance a pinecone on his nose and immediately sneezed it off.
Lumi collapsed into giggles.

And Woodbine—yes, even Woodbine—chuckled out loud. A proper, surprised, bubbling laugh.

He blinked. “Okay. That was funny.”

Woodbine nudged the map forward. “What’s next?”

Pollox read:

2. Skip over the fish-shaped hill. But be careful—it’s slippery when dry.

“...Fish-shaped hill?” Lumi asked.

Woodbine nodded. “Only one way to find out.”

-

The hill was fish-shaped, in the way pancakes are shaped like continents. Someone had stuck a little wooden fin into the top.

The grass was oddly smooth. Pollox climbed halfway up and immediately slid back down, legs flailing, tail wagging.

“It’s like the ground wants to dance with me!” he barked, and ran up again.

Lumi galloped up the hill, slipped sideways, and tumbled down in a perfect somersault. She landed in a puff of dandelions, very proud of herself.

Woodbine started to walk around the side… then paused. He looked at the slick grass. At his friends. At the sky.

Then he backed up three steps—and ran.

He hit the slope and slid, fast, ears flapping, paws tucked in like a pup on ice.
“Wheeeee—!”

He landed beside the others, grinning.

Pollox barked with laughter. “There he goes again!”

Lumi beamed. “I knew you wouldn’t resist.”

“Couldn’t let you two have all the fun,” Woodbine said. “Besides, that hill was asking for it.”

And just like that, the hill became a playground.

Pollox leapt, slid on his belly. Lumi spun herself into tumbles. Woodbine rolled, slid, and landed upside-down. Grass clung to their fur. Dandelion seeds floated around like confetti.

They slid backwards, sideways, upside-down. The hill was no longer a clue—it was a moment.

Finally, they flopped into a pile, panting and covered in summer.

“This,” Pollox said, “is my favorite kind of treasure.”

“It’s not even the end of the map,” Lumi said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Woodbine murmured. “This is the part we’ll remember.”

Eventually, Woodbine sat up and sniffed the air. He followed a trail to the top.

“There’s a scent trail here. Fox, maybe. And mint again… Whoever made this knows joy.”

Under a berry-juice smiley face was the next clue:

3. Tiptoe across the Whistling Log. It only squeaks if you think serious thoughts.

“Pollox,” Lumi said, “this one is perfect for you.”

Pollox looked offended.
And then forgot to be.

-

A stream whispered through a shaded clearing. A wide, mossy log stretched across it. When the wind blew, it creaked—wheeeeee… wheeenk…

Lumi stepped up first, tail high.
Wheeee-wheeeenk. Wheenk. Weeeeee...

Woodbine followed, slower and thoughtful.
“The pitch changes depending on your pace,” he murmured.
Squeeeak.

He paused in the middle. Then he smiled—just a small curl of the lips. A warm breeze. A ridiculous log. Friends nearby.

With light steps and a raised tail, he walked the rest of the way.

The log stayed silent.

“It’s true,” he said. “Joy keeps it quiet.”

Pollox bounded across full-speed, giggling.
Not a sound.

“Wait! My ball!” he gasped.
“You left it!” Lumi said.

Pollox froze—then sighed. “It’ll wait for me.”

“It’s probably sunbathing,” Lumi said.

Stuck to a tree with blackberry jam was the next note:

4. Return to the beginning. That’s where the treasure will be.

“...The beginning?” Pollox asked.

Lumi’s eyes lit up. “The meadow.”
“Where all good paths begin and end,” Woodbine said.

Part V – The Treasure
The meadow was golden. The sun hung low.

In the middle of the clover was a rock. On it sat a tiny cake, no bigger than a pawprint. Three flags stuck into the icing—Lumi’s fluff, Pollox’s spots, and the quiet swirls of Woodbine’s eyes.

A final note read:

For the best kind of explorers—those who follow joy, not just maps.

Pollox’s tail wagged.
“Hey—look!” he barked.

Nestled in the clover was his orange ball.

He nudged it. Gave it a hopeful squeeze. No squeak. But it had waited.

“Told you it was sunbathing,” Lumi said.

Pollox brought it over and sat beside the rock. It deserved a piece of cake too.

They sat together, tails brushing, cake crumbs on their paws, the sun melting behind them.

They never found out who made the map.
But they’d followed every step.

And in the end, the treasure wasn’t just the cake.

It was the laughter.
The silliness.
The way they’d moved together, without needing a reason.

Just three friends.
One map.
And a midsummer day full of joy.