Text: Once they’d brushed past the swaying marigolds, and hopped across a patch of pinkish purple heather, and narrowly escaped a charging butterfly, they came upon a puddle. “Oh dear,” said Sam, leaning down to inspect it. The puddle looked back at him in a somewhat suspicious manner. “That’s quite a large puddle, isn’t it?” Sam said worriedly. “Do you suppose it’s friendly?” “It looks rather miffed, Sam,” Emily observed. “Perhaps a bit more ruffled than other puddles I’ve seen.” “It’s pronounced poodle,” said the poodle, who was white and fluffy and had excellent hearing. “My goodness,” said Sam. “Are you sure?” The poodle elected not to answer. Instead it said, “And what might you be?” “I’m a beaver,” said Sam. He turned slightly and pointed at his flat tail, in case there were doubts. “And this is Emily. She's an owl.” “As I suspected,” said the poodle, who most certainly hadn't. He had never in his life met a beaver or an owl, and thought they were both some sort of unusual bear. Picture: A hand-drawn illustration of an owl and a beaver sitting behind some orange marigolds, smiling at a grumpy poodle sitting behind some purple heather. Two butterflies float above.

It's the weekend at last! Time to finally edit my book! 📖

Or, you know, begin to write and illustrate a brand new children’s story inspired by my friends instead...
🐦‍⬛🦌🦉🦫🐇🦊

#squishyfriends