Snickerdoodle

Rock Martin is a geologist from Indiana, Pennsylvania who explores the human spirit through his writing. A Penn State graduate, he depicts life’s challenges where the main struggle lies within. Rock enjoys fitness, camping, and hiking with his wife and young son, finding inspiration in nature and resilience.

Bright rays of the winter sun poured through the family room window and into the den, casting a welcoming sunspot across the carpet. Peaches nuzzled her yellow fur into the warm fabric and basked in the sunshine. It was that time again, when The Providers brought a tree inside and hung a bunch of weird stuff on it. Time for the house to smell like the forest, for those lovely faint jingles, and for happy voices to bounce off the walls.

Fred lumbered into the room and crashed down next to Peaches, the impact sending a roll across his plump, black fur. Peaches’ eyes flopped open as Fred pressed his back into hers, slid her to the edge of the sunspot, and drew a groan.

Peaches pushed back, the two jockeying for ownership, the sunspot big enough for just one Labrador. They wrestled until Fred abruptly buried his nose into his butt, ending the battle. Peaches huffed and rolled her eyes.

Soon they both faded into a slumber, passing another lazy winter afternoon.

Suddenly Fred’s nose wiggled and his head sprung from the floor. Peaches’ eyes flicked open. She lifted her nose in the air and caught the scent.

She crept to the doorway and peered around the corner, across the family room. Milo stared back from the kitchen counter, his black and white tail sweeping back and forth. Long their nemesis, he’d been waiting, the high perch making it easier to look down his nose at Peaches and Fred.

For a moment she ignored Milo’s haughty stare, looking past him to the fresh tray of cookies on the kitchen island, still steaming.

Peaches’ body trembled, a pool of saliva forming along her gums. She looked back at Fred, who stared off into the distance, the thick white films covering his eyes. A drop of saliva stretched from his lip and fell to the floor; his hips twisted sideways beneath him, the only way he could sit anymore. Fred licked his lips and let out a soft ruff.

Peaches turned back toward the kitchen, the scene of many a past caper. She’d often flanked Fred on these operations, running interference on Milo, or creating a distraction for The Providers. Back when the fur on Fred’s face was still black, and the days felt endless.

She paused, her weight shifting from paw to paw. This wasn’t how it usually went.

She glanced back at Fred again. Was he up for one more adventure? She yipped. He let out a growl and stretched his legs. It was all the confirmation she needed.

Peaches looked back at the kitchen, across the family room, the wood floor glistening in the sunlight, still wet from the Providers wiping it with the splash stick. The Food Giver always used the splash stick, as such a mechanism was clearly beyond the intellectual reach of the Useless One.

Footsteps rumbled from upstairs. The Providers would be back down soon. She couldn’t wait for the floor to dry.

One paw at a time, Peaches crept onto the hardwood. Every muscle tense, each step measured.

She peered at Milo, now hunched down, studying Peaches carefully. As she took another deliberate step, Milo sprang into action, leaping from the counter and bouncing off the couch into the tree. With his ears pinned back, he fiddled with a strand of tinsel, yanking it free and securing it in his mouth.

He gauged Peaches’ position, who was now halfway across the family room, then launched his furry body into the family room air. His tail fluttered and spun, his stretched-out legs preparing for landing. His paws muffled the impact as the tinsel stretched across the room, obstructing Peaches’ path.

Stealthy as Milo’s efforts were, he’d miscalculated. As the tinsel pulled from the tree, a red bulb tumbled to the floor, shattering on impact. Peaches’ head snapped around, catching the glint of red shards in the air. The same deep red from the Cherry Pie Incident, where the red pie filling caked to their muzzles, gave them away.

The vibration of footsteps shook the house. Milo grinned. The Providers would soon be here.

Peaches scanned the room for a safe corner to hide, but before she moved, Fred whimpered from the den, drawing the Food Giver’s attention. His instincts were still sharp.

Peaches exhaled, and Milo stiffened.

Back to work, another paw lifted from the slippery floor, prompting Milo to race around her, lassoing her in tinsel. Peaches froze, assessing the distance to the dry kitchen floor.

Her legs coiled like snakes, ready to strike, and with a grunt she leapt from the tinsel trap. Time fractured as the thick, cookie-scented air of the family room rushed past her.

Milo’s eyes widened, his gaze glued to Peaches’ spinning tail, pushing her ever so slightly further, but it wasn’t enough. The kitchen remained out of reach, the slick hardwood waiting below.

Peaches extended her landing gear, calibrating for a steady arrival. Her paws met the floor, securing a grip for the briefest of moments before sliding from under her.

Yellow legs shot in all directions, Peaches’ rigid body transforming into a shapeless mass of paws, tail, and tongue, launching fur and spit across the room. Milo waited for the satisfying thud, but Peaches’ momentum pushed her closer to the kitchen, her feet still fighting to find a grip. Just as her weight careened to the side, she reached the end of the hardwood, finding solid footing on the dry kitchen tile.

Milo hissed and darted into the laundry room, while Peaches caught her breath. Across the family room, Fred crept onto the hardwood, now dry.

The cookies beckoned, and Peaches glanced back at Fred, who sat next to the couch, drool still dripping from his lips.

The last time he had that look was the Roast Debacle, when the Useless One left an entire roast on the counter, unguarded. She and Fred feasted until their bellies hurt, only realizing they’d left the plastic wrap on the floor after The Providers had returned. So close to a clean getaway!

As she turned back toward the cookies, a low rumble arose in the laundry room. Her ears pinned forward and her head wrinkled. What now?

The rumble grew, the vibrations coursing through the kitchen floor. Peaches licked her lips and repositioned, her fur trembling.

The terrifying roar echoed through the house, reaching Fred just as a shadow appeared on the laundry room wall, gliding toward the doorway to the kitchen. Peaches backed away and whimpered, a flicker of recognition in her eye. It was coming. Loud. Hungry. Unstoppable.

A nightmare.

She looked up as it turned through the doorway. The Floor Beast. With Milo riding on top.

It turned and rumbled toward Peaches. She backed away further, slinking around the island. The Floor Beast followed. Fred listened to the commotion, his mind grinding through a solution.

Peaches circled around the island and, like clockwork, the Floor Beast spun around and caught her at the bend. She shuffled away again, backing into the kitchen corner. Fred suddenly turned and scampered into the bedroom, the spring of youth in his step.

The Floor Beast turned again and rumbled across the kitchen, trapping Peaches. Fred stormed back over the hardwood, carrying a dirty sock in his mouth. He brought it into the kitchen and flung it toward Peaches, who kicked it back in front of the Floor Beast.

The Beast gobbled it up, sputtering and moaning as it choked on the fabric. The Floor Beast, now just inches away from Peaches, ground to a halt, a thin puff of steam rising from its belly. Milo pounded the start button with his tiny paw, but it was no use. The Beast was slain.

Peaches emerged from the corner, the cookies now only a few feet away. Milo scampered to the cabinets and leapt onto the counter, placing himself between Peaches and the cookies.

She tried surfing the counter, but Milo batted away each paw. Fred lumbered behind a counter stool and pushed it toward Peaches.

Milo, seeing the odds suddenly change, abandoned his strategy. He sprang from the island onto the far counter and pushed anything he could find onto the floor. Cookie sheets, saltshakers, and pans crashed against the tile, the sound echoing through the house.

Peaches climbed onto the stool, footsteps now rumbling from upstairs. She hurried onto the island counter, the cookies inches away. A long strand of saliva stretched from Fred’s mouth to the floor, the intoxicating cookie scent swirling around his snout.

Just as Peaches reached her paw toward the closest cookie, a booming sound shook the kitchen.

“What’s going on in here?” The Food Giver shouted.

Peaches’ paw hovered in the air, the cookie’s heat seeping into her pads. The Food Giver’s shadow stretched across the counter, long and unavoidable. Milo vanished in a black and white blur, the clatter of his escape swallowed by the ringing pans.

For a single breath, Peaches considered it. One snap of her jaws and victory would be hers.

Instead, she turned.

Fred stood below the island, chest heaving, legs trembling beneath him. His eyes were bright now, alive in a way they hadn’t been moments before. The drool still clung to his jowls, his hips still betrayed him, but his tail thumped once against the cabinet. A slow, satisfied beat.

It struck her then, harder than the shout, harder than the crash of metal and fear. This wasn’t her prize.

This was his.

Peaches snatched the cookie and let it fall.

It bounced once on the tile and skidded to a stop at Fred’s paws.

The Food Giver gasped, rushing forward, too late. Fred lowered his head and took the cookie gently, as if he knew exactly how fragile the moment was. He chewed slowly, reverently, crumbs dusting his muzzle. He finished, licked his lips and leaned into Peaches’ shoulder.

The Food Giver knelt, scolding halfheartedly, hands already moving to check Fred’s legs. Peaches stood tall beside him, accepting the blame with calm eyes and a steady chest.

Later, when the house settled and the tree lights glowed soft and warm, Peaches curled in the den. Fred eased down beside her, smaller somehow, lighter, his breath deep and even. She pressed her back to his, holding him in place the way he once held her.

The house was hers now. She felt it in the quiet, in the way the shadows obeyed her watch. Tomorrow there would be rules to enforce, cats to manage, dangers to assess.

But tonight, she stayed still.

Fred slept, his adventure complete.