A tale from the Valbasca Gang
Skye was a very precise little dog.
Every morning, as soon as she woke up, she did three things in exactly the same order:
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She stretched (one paw at a time, like a ballerina).
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She checked that the sofa was still in place.
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She waited for the breakfast biscuit.
The biscuit always arrived at the same time, with the same sound (crunch crunch) and the same smell: a bit of honey, a hint of vanilla, a touch of magic.
But one day, it didn’t.
The biscuit didn’t come.
Skye froze, as if the world had stopped.
She looked at the human.
She looked at the shelf.
She looked at the human again.
Nothing.
Just a cup of coffee and the usual sleepy face.
“Maybe it fell,” thought Skye. And so, the investigation began.
Under the sofa? Nothing.
Behind the dog bed? Just a lonely sock.
By the door? A dry leaf and a train ticket (not hers).
Skye stepped out into the garden, determined to solve the case.
There she met Otto, with flour on his snout and one paw that smelled suspiciously like biscuit.
“Do you know anything?” asked Skye.
“Me? No no no,” said Otto, far too quickly. “I’m looking for… lemon butterflies.”
“Those don’t exist.”
“Neither does the biscuit, apparently.”
Skye sighed. Then she noticed something: a print. Small, round, fragrant.
She followed the trail like a hound on a mission.
It led her to the gate. Then behind the bush. Then… straight into the den of Arturo the hedgehog.
Arturo was munching on something.
“Is that… IS THAT MY BISCUIT?!”
“Technically, it was up for grabs,” said Arturo, crumbs on his snout.
“Up for grabs by who?”
“By fate. It was just sitting there, alone, helpless. I figured: better me than the wind.”
Skye huffed.
Then she thought for a moment.
She looked at Arturo. She looked at the crumbs.
And she decided to let him have it.
“But tomorrow I’m leaving two. One for me and one for you. No more midnight thefts, got it?”
“Got it. I’ve already got the napkin ready.”
From that day on, every morning, Skye found two biscuits: one with honey, just as always, and one with a faint scent of the forest, just perfect for Arturo.
And the mystery became a habit.
One of those lovely ones that smell like friendship, crumbs, and small promises kept.
