Archive date follows the original topic. Independently written and reviewed by idoghome on October 29, 2026.
Fiction: this is an original comic diary narrated by an imaginary dog named Pip. It is not a rescue report, a real owner's diary or a description of how dogs literally think.
7:12 a.m.—An unexpected problem with the garden
The door opened. Water was falling out of the sky again. I checked the other side of the door in case my person had selected the wrong garden. Same water.
We completed the necessary outdoor business with unusual efficiency. My person called this a brisk start. I called it enough weather for one morning.
8:03 a.m.—The expedition is announced
A towel appeared. I contributed two damp footprints to its location and four to the kitchen floor. My person moved the towel. Clearly, we were still deciding where the towel belonged.
After breakfast, she arranged three cardboard boxes in the sitting room. This was promising. Boxes usually mean that something has arrived for me, even when the label says otherwise.
She put a little of my usual food inside one box and invited me to investigate. I found it immediately. We both agreed that I was exceptionally talented. She then moved the boxes and asked me to try again, which suggested that the first result had not been properly recorded.
9:26 a.m.—A difficult section
The next piece was hidden in a folded towel. I considered fetching an assistant, but the cat had already accepted a position on the windowsill and was unavailable for fieldwork.
I used my nose. Then one paw. Then my nose again, because the paw had introduced an unnecessary complication. Success. My person said we would stop while it was still fun. I would have preferred to stop when the food was gone, but apparently there was an agenda.
11:40 a.m.—The mystery of the missing sun
The rain continued. I checked the bright patch that normally visits the rug. It had failed to attend.
My person put a blanket nearby and sat down with a book. I joined her, partly for company and partly to supervise the book, which she had been looking at for a suspiciously long time without sniffing once.
2:18 p.m.—Conditions improve
The door opened again. This time the sky had stopped leaking. We took a short walk past the hedge, where several important messages had been left since yesterday. I read them carefully. My person waited, which I appreciated more than the brisk start.
6:05 p.m.—Final report
No mountains were climbed. No heroic journey was undertaken. I found some breakfast in a box, solved the towel, inspected the hedge and slept beside my favourite person.
A successful expedition. Tomorrow I shall check whether the garden has dried completely. It is a large responsibility, but someone has to do it.
Illustrative photo · Pdpics · CC BY-SA 3.0
