Lucy's Journal

July 22, 2026 – Operation: Dave & Buster's

Dear Journal,

I should have known today was going to be interesting when I woke up and found Kiwi wearing a tiny baseball cap and carrying a hand-drawn map.

"Today," he announced from the coffee table, "we embark on our greatest mission yet!"

Peanut opened one eye.

"You said that before we stole popcorn from Rural King."

"And history remembers us favorably," Kiwi replied.

The Quackers marched in formation across the living room floor.

"Quack! Quack!"

Lucy Translation Services™ believes they were saying, "Proceed with the mission."

Just then, Gracie came bouncing into the yard, her tail wagging at approximately 300 miles per hour. Floating quietly behind her was the Ghost of Maybelline, looking amused already.

"What's today's adventure?" Gracie asked.

Kiwi dramatically unfolded his map.

"We are going to Dave & Buster's."

Peanut sat upright immediately.

"The place with unlimited flashing lights and games?"

"The very same."

"Excellent."

Maybelline floated a few inches off the ground and sighed.

"I can already tell this is going to end with someone getting chased by security."

---

After piling into our imaginary adventure wagon, we arrived at Dave & Buster's.

There was only one problem.

It wasn't open yet.

The doors were locked.

Kiwi stared through the glass.

"No! We've arrived before business hours!"

Gracie pressed her nose against the window.

"I can see Skee-Ball!"

Peanut climbed onto a nearby bench for a better view.

"I also see claw machines. This changes everything."

The Quackers had become fascinated by their reflections in the glass and were having a spirited conversation with themselves.

Maybelline floated through the front doors and came back a moment later.

"I have good news and bad news."

"What's the good news?" I asked.

"There are approximately one million games inside."

"And the bad news?"

"They're still closed."

---

Naturally, Kiwi proposed a plan.

"I call this Operation: Totally Not Breaking In."

"That name is not reassuring," Peanut said.

The plan consisted of:

1. Looking extra cute.
2. Seeing if the doors magically opened.
3. Looking even cuter.
4. Sending Gracie to wag at maximum capacity.
5. Having Maybelline report back as our ghostly scout.

Surprisingly, Step 1 worked about as well as Step 2.

Not at all.

So Maybelline floated inside to investigate.

She returned with a detailed report.

"There are racing games, basketball hoops, air hockey tables, and a giant claw machine."

Peanut gasped.

"A giant claw machine?!"

"Also," Maybelline continued, "there's a game where you roll balls up a ramp."

"Skee-Ball!" shouted Gracie.

"I was getting to that."

---

At this point, Kiwi climbed onto my back and attempted to peer through the windows.

"I've always wanted to play Pac-Man."

Peanut nodded.

"I would dominate Whack-a-Mole."

The Quackers immediately volunteered for a duck-themed racing game they hadn't actually seen.

Gracie wanted to play literally everything.

As for me?

I just wanted one of those giant pretzels.

Eventually, Kiwi spotted an employee inside vacuuming.

"This is our chance!"

Before anyone could stop him, he flew up to the window and tapped politely.

The employee looked up.

Kiwi waved.

The employee waved back.

Kiwi pointed at the games.

The employee pointed at his watch and shrugged.

Kiwi returned to us looking defeated.

"He says they open in two hours."

"Devastating," Peanut said dramatically.

---

With time to spare, we held an official meeting to determine which games everyone wanted to play.

Kiwi:

• Pac-Man
• Air Hockey
• Anything involving tickets

Peanut:

• Claw Machines
• Whack-a-Mole
• Skee-Ball (for prestige)

Lucy (me):

• Giant Pretzel Consumption
• Basketball Games
• More Pretzel Consumption

Gracie:

• EVERYTHING.

The Quackers:

• The racing games.
• Also, somehow, pinball.

Maybelline:

• "I'm a ghost. I can't physically touch anything."
• Secretly admitted she wanted to play Dance Dance Revolution.

"I knew it!" shouted Kiwi.

"I said no such thing."

"You absolutely did."

---

As the morning passed, we sat outside watching the doors and planning our strategy.

Gracie practiced her victory dance.

Peanut sharpened her claw machine skills by attempting to retrieve leaves from a nearby bush.

The Quackers raced each other across the sidewalk.

Kiwi gave an inspirational speech.

"Today, my friends, we stand on the precipice of greatness!"

"We're standing in a parking lot," Peanut corrected.

"Metaphorically!"

Maybelline floated above us, smiling.

"You know, one day you'll all realize the real prize isn't the tickets."

"What is it?" I asked.

"The friends you spent the day with."

There was a moment of silence.

Then Kiwi raised a wing.

"Counterpoint: Giant stuffed banana."

Honestly, he had a point.

Until next week,

Lucy

P.S. We never did make it inside.

P.P.S. Kiwi is already planning "Operation Giant Stuffed Banana" for next Wednesday.

P.P.P.S. I'm bringing extra quarters.

Lucy's Journal

July 15, 2026 – The Great Pet Store Debate

Dear Journal,

What. A. Day.

I barely had breakfast before Kiwi landed on the kitchen chair, fluffed up his feathers, and announced, "Gentlepets, today's mission is scientific research!"

Whenever Kiwi says "scientific research," somebody usually ends up in trouble.

Peanut stretched across the couch without opening her eyes.

"So... we're causing chaos again?"

"Absolutely not," Kiwi replied. "We're conducting a completely unbiased comparison of Petco and PetSmart."

The Quackers immediately began quacking excitedly, although I don't think they had any idea what we were talking about.

Just then, our friends arrived.

Gracie, the black-and-white Shih Tzu, bounced through the yard with enough energy to power a small city.

And floating just behind her was our favorite guardian spirit—the Ghost of Maybelline. Her tail wagged gently as she shimmered in the morning sunlight.

"I'll supervise," Maybelline said with a ghostly smile.

That should have been my first warning.

---

Stop #1 – Petco

As soon as we walked inside, Kiwi flew straight toward the bird toys.

"I have found my kingdom!"

He tested every perch, inspected every bell, and attempted to critique the engineering of a wooden ladder.

Peanut wandered over to the cat aisle.

"The beds are acceptable," she declared. "But this scratching post lacks artistic vision."

The Quackers became fascinated with a display of rubber ducks.

Honestly, I've never seen ducks so excited about fake ducks.

Gracie somehow convinced a tennis ball to bounce down three aisles.

Meanwhile, Maybelline drifted through a display of squeaky toys, causing several of them to squeak all by themselves.

The employees looked very confused.

We left Petco with one conclusion:

Excellent bird toys.
Very respectable treats.
Friendly atmosphere.

Kiwi gave it four-and-a-half feathers out of five.

---

Stop #2 – PetSmart

PetSmart was much larger.

Peanut immediately discovered an entire wall of cat towers.

"I have found civilization."

She climbed to the very top and refused to come down for almost fifteen minutes.

Gracie found the dog toy aisle and somehow had six plush squeaky animals surrounding her before anyone noticed.

I sampled several dog beds.

For research purposes.

They were wonderfully soft.

Kiwi was impressed with the selection of bird food.

"The millet quality appears exceptional."

Nobody knew what he meant, but he sounded very confident.

The Quackers discovered a display of tiny pet swimming pools.

Naturally, they tried to climb into every single one.

Maybelline floated nearby, laughing so hard she became almost transparent.

Final score:

PetSmart earned high marks for beds, toys, and overall variety.

Peanut awarded it five purrs.

---

The Rural King Detour

On the way home, someone—I won't name names, Kiwi—suggested we stop at Rural King.

That turned out to be the most exciting part of the day.

The outdoor farm equipment looked like the world's greatest playground.

Gracie climbed onto a shiny tractor.

I posed proudly beside a riding mower.

Peanut sat on the driver's seat of a utility vehicle as if she owned the dealership.

The Quackers marched around inspecting every wagon and trailer like tiny construction supervisors.

Kiwi climbed onto the steering wheel of the biggest tractor he could find.

"I am now Captain Kiwi, Commander of Agricultural Operations!"

He looked ridiculously proud.

Maybelline floated above all of us, shaking her ghostly head.

"I leave you alone for five minutes..."

Then we smelled it.

Fresh popcorn.

Someone had a popcorn machine running.

Kiwi looked at Peanut.

Peanut looked at me.

I looked at Gracie.

Nobody said a word.

Five seconds later we were all happily sharing what was definitely "borrowed" popcorn while sitting on a display wagon.

The Quackers each managed to carry away popcorn pieces nearly as big as their heads.

Maybelline couldn't actually eat any, but she insisted she could still smell it.

"It reminds me of county fairs," she said softly.

For a little while, everyone simply sat together enjoying the afternoon.

---

The Official Results

After much discussion, several taste tests, and one completely unnecessary debate led by Kiwi, we reached our official conclusions.

Best Bird Supplies: Petco (according to Kiwi)

Best Cat Furniture: PetSmart (according to Peanut)

Best Dog Beds: PetSmart (my professional opinion)

Best Toys: Tie

Best Unexpected Adventure: Rural King

Best Popcorn: Rural King.
(Definitely Rural King.)

As the sun began to set, we headed home with full bellies and happy hearts.

Maybelline floated beside us until we reached the yard.

She smiled at all of us.

"You know," she whispered, "the best place isn't Petco or PetSmart."

"Where?" I asked.

"Wherever your friends are."

Then she slowly faded into the evening breeze.

Even Peanut got a little emotional.

She'll deny it, of course.

Until next week,

Lucy

Lucy's Journal

Dear Journal,

Today turned into one of our biggest adventures yet!

After breakfast, Kiwi flew down from his perch and chirped, "Adventure Day! Adventure Day!" That was all it took. Within minutes everyone had packed snacks, water, and enough imagination to last all afternoon.

Our crew—me (Lucy, the fearless tan and white Shih Tzu), Peanut the gray tiger cat, Kiwi the green cheek conure, the Quackers (our identical twin ducks), Gracie the black and white Shih Tzu, and our wonderful friend, the Ghost of Maybelline—set off down the Rails-to-Trails path.

The morning air was cool, birds were singing, and butterflies floated around us as we walked beneath the big shady trees. Every few minutes Kiwi would fly ahead to scout the trail before circling back to announce, "All clear!"

Eventually we came upon a place Dad used to tell stories about.

There it was...

Old Pappy Harold's Pond.

Dad always said years ago it was one of the best fishing holes around. Folks would spend all day there catching fish and swapping stories under the big sycamore trees.

The pond was peaceful now, with lily pads floating across the surface, dragonflies zipping through the air, frogs croaking from the shoreline, and turtles sunning themselves on old logs.

Naturally...

We decided we needed to have a fishing tournament.

Since nobody had brought fishing poles, everyone built their own.

I found a sturdy walking stick, tied some string to it with Dad's help, and used a bright red bobber I found tucked inside an old tackle box.

Peanut crafted the fanciest fishing pole of them all. She carefully selected a long, flexible branch and proudly tied on a shiny feather she had "borrowed" from Kiwi. For bait, she insisted fresh catnip leaves would attract the biggest catfish in the pond.

Kiwi built the smallest fishing pole anyone had ever seen. It was just the right size for a green cheek conure. His bait was a bright red cherry, because he was convinced bass couldn't resist something colorful.

The Quackers worked together as usual. They built one extra-long fishing pole that they both operated from opposite ends. Their secret bait was corn kernels mixed with tiny pieces of bread, and they confidently announced they were going to catch the biggest bluegill in West Virginia.

Gracie made a surprisingly professional-looking fishing pole using a straight sapling branch. Her bait was a juicy garden worm, and she declared she was after a beautiful rainbow trout—even though everyone gently reminded her that rainbow trout don't usually live in warm ponds like this one.

"Oh," Gracie smiled.

"Then maybe one forgot."

Finally, Ghost Maybelline floated over to an old willow tree. Since she couldn't exactly hold a fishing pole, she gently guided one with little ghostly breezes. Her mysterious bait was a glowing feather that shimmered in the sunlight.

"I'm fishing for memories," she whispered softly.

We all smiled.

Everyone spread out around the pond.

Before long the fun began.

Peanut's bobber disappeared beneath the water.

She pulled with all her might...

...only to discover she'd hooked an old boot.

"I think it's vintage," she proudly announced.

Kiwi's cherry disappeared almost instantly.

He excitedly reeled in...

...a very confused turtle who politely accepted the cherry before swimming away.

The Quackers caught three bluegill almost at the same time.

Well...

Actually two bluegill and one very surprised frog.

The frog seemed far less impressed with the competition than everyone else.

Gracie's line suddenly bent over.

"This has to be my rainbow trout!" she barked excitedly.

Instead...

Up came the largest snapping turtle anyone had ever seen.

Gracie wisely decided second place sounded just fine.

As for me...

I patiently waited while watching my bobber float peacefully across the pond.

Suddenly...

Splash!

I reeled and reeled and reeled.

To everyone's amazement, I landed a beautiful largemouth bass that gave one mighty splash before Dad carefully helped release it back into the pond.

Everyone cheered!

Then all eyes turned toward Ghost Maybelline.

Her fishing line slowly lifted from the water.

There wasn't a fish attached.

Instead...

An old wooden fishing lure floated gently to the surface, weathered by many years in the pond.

Dad picked it up carefully.

"I'll bet old Pappy Harold used this," he said with a smile.

For a quiet moment, everyone simply looked out across the pond.

It felt like the old fishing stories were still there, drifting across the water with the breeze.

As the afternoon sun began to sink lower in the sky, we packed up our homemade fishing poles, took one last look at Old Pappy Harold's Pond, and headed back up the trail.

Nobody really cared who caught the biggest fish.

The best catch of the day was another wonderful adventure shared together.

Until next time,

Love,

Lucy 🐾

Lucy's Journal

 

Lucy's Journal – July 1, 2026

Dear Journal,

What started out as a peaceful Bocce Ball Tournament in the backyard somehow turned into the biggest water fight of the summer!

Dad marked out a beautiful bocce court in the grass and announced the first annual Backyard Bocce Championship. Naturally, everyone believed they were destined to become champion.

I, Lucy the tan and white Shih Tzu, proudly declared myself both Team Captain and Official Scorekeeper. I even carried around a little clipboard, although I may have accidentally added a few extra points to my own team every now and then. Totally by mistake... probably.

Peanut, the gray tiger cat, claimed she had "cat vision" that allowed her to determine exactly which ball was closest to the little white pallino. Conveniently, every measurement seemed to favor her. When nobody was looking, she gave one of her team's bocce balls the tiniest little nudge with her paw.

Kiwi, our clever green cheek conure, decided the easiest way to win was from the air. He'd swoop down, land beside the pallino, loudly announce, "Looks good to me!" and then quietly roll the little white ball an inch or two before flying away whistling like nothing had happened.

The Quackers, our identical twin ducks, formed the most suspicious team of all. Whenever one duck rolled a ball, the other would "accidentally" stand in everyone's line of sight, flapping her wings and quacking loudly while her sister secretly repositioned another ball with her beak.

Just then our friends arrived.

Gracie, the black and white Shih Tzu, smiled sweetly and said she was only there to cheer everyone on. Five minutes later she was hiding bocce balls behind flower pots and pretending she had no idea where they had gone.

Then, floating gently into the yard, came the Ghost of Maybelline, our sweet brown pit bull. Being a ghost gave her one very unfair advantage. Every time someone rolled a nearly perfect shot, a mysterious little breeze would appear and gently curve the ball just enough to change the score.

Nobody could prove it was Maybelline...

...but everyone knew.

After nearly an hour of playful accusations, suspicious measurements, disappearing bocce balls, and ghostly breezes, Dad finally laughed and declared that absolutely nobody was playing by the rules anymore.

That's when Kiwi had a brilliant—or terrible—idea.

He flew over to the garden hose.

Before anyone could stop him, he turned the nozzle just enough for a tiny stream of water to spray across the yard.

"SURPRISE!"

The Quackers immediately charged into the puddles, splashing water everywhere with their happy little feet.

Peanut darted behind a lawn chair, grabbed a small squirt toy, and soaked Lucy right on the nose.

"Oh, it is ON!" I barked.

Gracie found another squirt toy and joined the battle while laughing so hard she could barely aim.

Kiwi flew overhead making bombing runs with tiny drops of water he'd scoop up from a birdbath.

Ghost Maybelline drifted through everyone, creating cool gusts of mist that made it feel like a magical summer rainstorm.

Within minutes the backyard had become complete chaos.

Everyone was soaked.

Everyone was laughing.

Even the bocce balls ended up floating in a little kiddie pool that the Quackers had completely taken over.

As the sun began to set, we all collapsed on the patio, tired, dripping wet, and smiling from ear to ear.

Dad handed out treats to everyone and officially declared the tournament a tie.

Personally...

I still think I won.

After all, I was the scorekeeper.

Until next time,

Love,

Lucy 🐾

Lucy's Journal

Lucy's Journal – June 24, 2024

Dear Journal,

Today turned into one of the funniest days we've had in a long time. Dad decided the backyard needed some cleaning up, and naturally, that meant the whole crew had to "help." As always, things got a little wild.

I, Lucy the tan and white Shih Tzu, appointed myself Foreman of the Backyard Cleanup Crew. I wore my invisible hard hat and supervised everyone from my lawn chair, barking instructions every few minutes.

Peanut, the gray tiger cat, was in charge of inspecting leaves. She'd carefully gather a pile, only to dive into it and scatter them everywhere. She insisted this was "quality control." Every now and then she'd sneak behind someone and pounce on their tail, causing a burst of laughter and confusion.

Kiwi, our green cheek conure, was flying around carrying tiny sticks and twigs. He'd proudly deposit them into the wheelbarrow and then immediately fly over and steal clothespins from the laundry line. Whenever anyone asked where they went, he'd whistle innocently and pretend not to know anything.

The Quackers, our identical twin ducks, worked as a team. One would carry little weeds in her bill while the other waddled behind giving loud commentary. They spent half the day splashing in the birdbath and the other half chasing Peanut around the yard whenever she tried to nap.

Just when we thought the fun couldn't get any better, our friends arrived.

Gracie, the black and white Shih Tzu, came over and immediately volunteered to pull sticks into neat piles. Every time Lucy turned around, Gracie would sneak up and gently boop her nose, then run away laughing while Lucy pretended to be offended.

And then, floating through the sunshine, came the Ghost of Maybelline, our sweet brown pit bull. Even though she was now a ghost, she was still full of fun. She drifted around carrying leaves with her spooky breeze and helped cool everyone off whenever the afternoon got warm. Occasionally she'd make her ghostly bark, which startled Kiwi into dropping twigs all over Peanut's freshly organized leaf piles.

The funniest moment happened when Peanut decided to hide behind a flower pot and jump out to scare the Quackers. Unfortunately, the Quackers had already spotted her and quietly sneaked around behind Peanut. When she sprang out yelling "Surprise!" the ducks yelled "QUACK!" right behind her, causing Peanut to jump three feet in the air and land in a pile of grass clippings. Everyone laughed so hard that even Ghost Maybelline floated upside down with laughter.

As the sun began to set, we all sat together on the patio. The yard looked great, the birdbath was sparkling, and everyone was tired from a hard day's work and an even harder day of playing jokes on each other.

Ghost Maybelline gave everyone one last gentle breeze and promised she'd visit again soon.

Dad smiled at all of us and said we were the most entertaining cleanup crew he'd ever seen.

I think he's right.

Until next time,

Love,

Lucy 🐾

Lucy's Journal

June 17, 2026 – Operation: The Great BBQ Chicken Chase

Dear Journal,

Well, I can honestly say today was one for the record books.

It all started when Kiwi was sitting on the back of the couch, puffed up like a tiny green general, making plans for Sunday’s big Father’s Day BBQ for our favorite Dad and internet blogger.

“Every great BBQ needs chicken!” Kiwi squawked.

Peanut the gray tiger cat stretched out on the floor and flicked his tail. “I know where we can get one.”

That sentence should have been the first warning.

The Quackers, the two identical duck twins, immediately started quacking excitedly.

“QUACK! QUACK! CHICKEN MISSION!”

I, Lucy the tan and white Shih Tzu and the responsible leader of this household (at least that’s what I tell everyone), had a bad feeling about where this was going.

Thirty minutes later, we found ourselves sneaking across the yard like a team of furry and feathered secret agents.

Kiwi was the lookout.

“Chicken spotted at two o’clock!” he whispered.

Peanut lowered himself into his best hunting pose.

The Quackers waddled left.

The Quackers waddled right.

Actually, they both waddled the same direction because they’re identical and apparently share the same bad ideas.

“MOVE IN!” Kiwi shouted.

And that chicken took off like a rocket.

I have never seen something with feathers move that fast.

The chase began.

Peanut jumped over a flower bed and landed in a bush.

The Quackers tried to corner the chicken but somehow cornered each other instead.

Kiwi flew overhead yelling instructions that nobody followed.

“LEFT! LEFT! NO, THE OTHER LEFT!”

I chased the chicken around the yard three times before realizing I was just chasing my own tail because I got dizzy and forgot which animal I was after.

After an hour of chaos, muddy paws, scattered feathers from the chicken’s dramatic escape, and one very embarrassed cat, the chicken finally stopped and looked at us as if to say:

“You four are terrible at this.”

And honestly?

The chicken was right.

Kiwi looked at the chicken.

The chicken looked at Kiwi.

They both had feathers.

A moment of understanding happened.

“You know,” Kiwi said quietly, “maybe a bird shouldn’t be on the menu at a family celebration.”

The Quackers nodded.

“QUACK. FAMILY.”

Peanut sighed.

“I suppose hot dogs and burgers are easier to catch anyway.”

I barked in agreement.

So we marched back home, covered in dirt, smelling like the backyard, and with absolutely no chicken for Sunday’s BBQ.

But we did make a new friend.

The chicken is coming to the BBQ as an honored guest.

Kiwi promised not to tell any chicken jokes.

Peanut promised not to stare at him.

The Quackers promised not to teach him how to steal potato salad.

I made no promises because I am the only one in this house with any sense.

And if you believe that, you have never met my family.

Until next time, dear Journal…

Stay mischievous.

🐾 Love,
Lucy

Lucy's Journal

Lucy's Journal – June 10, 2026

Wiffle Ball Madness at Monongalia County Ballpark

Dear Journal,

Today was one of the most exciting days ever!

The gang and I headed over to the beautiful Monongalia County Ballpark for what was supposed to be a friendly game of wiffle ball. Of course, when you put me, Peanut the gray tiger cat, Kiwi the green cheek conure, and the Quackers (those identical twin ducks who still insist they're easy to tell apart) together, "friendly" usually turns into complete chaos.

Our opponents were an unusual bunch: a team made up entirely of giraffes and mice.

Now, at first glance, that might seem unfair. The giraffes could practically lean over the outfield fence without moving, while the mice were so tiny they could disappear between the blades of grass. But we weren't worried.

The first inning started with Kiwi stepping up to the plate. He swung so hard he spun around three times before making contact. Somehow the ball dribbled twenty feet down the baseline. Kiwi flapped his wings and declared it a home run anyway.

"It was airborne for part of the trip!" he argued.

The umpire disagreed.

Peanut the cat was our next batter. He immediately tried to negotiate a trade to the giraffe team after noticing they had better snacks in their dugout. When that failed, he smacked a line drive into center field and strutted around the bases like he had just won the World Series.

The Quackers were unstoppable. The twins worked together so well that nobody could tell which duck was on base and which one was batting. At one point they accidentally switched places three times during the same play, confusing both teams and the scorekeeper.

Meanwhile, the giraffes had an interesting strategy. They simply reached over everyone and caught nearly every fly ball. One giraffe caught a pop-up while simultaneously eating a leaf from a nearby tree.

The mice, however, were the real challenge. They were so small that every ground ball seemed to roll right over their heads. One mouse somehow stole second, third, and home before anyone noticed he had left first base.

By the sixth inning, the score was tied 12-12.

That's when I came to the plate.

The crowd roared. Well, maybe it was just the Quackers quacking loudly from the dugout, but it sounded like a crowd.

I took a deep breath, wagged my tail, and swung.

CRACK!

The wiffle ball sailed high into the afternoon sky.

A giraffe jumped.

A mouse climbed another mouse's shoulders.

Kiwi offered helpful advice that nobody could understand.

Peanut tried to call dibs on the ball.

But it didn't matter.

The ball landed safely in the outfield, and I raced around the bases for the game-winning run!

Final score:

Lucy and Friends: 13
Giraffes and Mice: 12

After the game, we celebrated with cold treats and plenty of victory photos. Peanut claimed he was the team MVP. Kiwi claimed he was the team manager. The Quackers claimed they scored all 13 runs.

As for me?

I was just happy to spend another perfect day with my favorite friends.

Until next time,

Lucy 🐶⚾

P.S. Peanut is still trying to trade herself to the giraffes for a bag of sunflower seeds. We're monitoring the situation.

Lucy's Journal

 

Lucy’s Journal – June 3, 2026

Mini Golf Mayhem and Slush Puppie Victory

Today started out as one of those “everybody pile into the car and hope for the best” kind of days. Peanut was already causing trouble before we even left the driveway. He somehow managed to steal the little scorecard pencil and hide it under the seat. Nobody noticed until we got to the miniature golf course.

The place had waterfalls, little bridges, fake caves, and one of those giant windmills that always seems to knock the ball away at the last second. The Quackers immediately declared themselves “professional athletes” and marched straight to the first hole like they were entering a tournament on TV.

Kiwi spent the entire first hole yelling, “HOLE IN ONE! HOLE IN ONE!” before anybody even hit the ball.

Things stayed mostly normal until hole number four.

That’s when Peanut cheated.

Lucy lined up the perfect shot, but right before the ball rolled into the hole, Peanut casually reached out a paw and tapped his own ball ahead when nobody was looking. He acted like it was completely accidental too. The Quackers started yelling “FOUL! FOUL!” and flapping their wings dramatically while Kiwi laughed so hard he almost fell off the score table.

Then Kiwi decided HE wanted to cheat too.

At hole seven, Kiwi picked up his golf ball in his beak and tried to drop it directly beside the hole while shouting, “Birdie! Birdie for the birdie!” Unfortunately for him, Lucy caught him immediately. Kiwi tried pretending he was “just cleaning the ball,” which nobody believed for one second.

Meanwhile, the Quackers actually played surprisingly fair. They took forever lining up every shot, though. One duck would stare at the hole while the other whispered “strategies” into his ear like they were planning a military operation.

By the final hole, the scores were close.

Peanut insisted he should win because “style points matter.”

Kiwi claimed he deserved bonus points for “aerial maneuverability.”

The Quackers tied for second place after both accidentally knocking their balls into the water hazard at exactly the same time.

And Lucy?

LUCY WON.

The celebration was completely over the top.

Lucy ran around waving the tiny plastic golf club in the air while Kiwi made victory music noises from the scoreboard. Peanut pretended he “let her win,” even though everyone knew that wasn’t true. The Quackers demanded a trophy presentation and tried to build one out of napkins.

After all the chaos, everybody went out for giant Slush Pupppies afterward.

Kiwi drank his too fast and got a brain freeze.

Peanut got blue raspberry all over his whiskers.

One of the Quackers mixed every flavor together and proudly called it “swamp juice.”

Lucy sat there smiling with her championship scorecard sitting proudly on the table beside her giant cherry slush.

Honestly, it was probably one of the funniest afternoons we’ve had in a long time.

And yes…

Peanut is still insisting he won.

Lucy's Journal

 

Lucy’s Journal – May 27, 2026

Well folks… today the crew invaded the Morgantown Mall, and honestly, I think the mall may still be recovering.

The whole adventure started because I said the dangerous words:
“Let’s just stop in for a minute.”

Everybody knows there is no such thing as “a minute” at the mall.

The Quackers marched in first like they owned the place. They waddled straight toward the arcade, already arguing about which game they were gonna dominate. Five minutes later they came stomping back out grumbling louder than an old lawn mower.

“This arcade ain’t what it used to be!”
“Where’s the good racing games?”
“Half these machines just want you to scan a card!”

One of them spent three dollars trying to win a stuffed pickle and somehow lost every single time. The other one got mad at a claw machine and accused it of “psychological warfare.”

Meanwhile, I wandered off toward the shoe stores. Now listen… I did NOT need another pair of shoes.

But did that stop me from looking?
Absolutely not.

There I was holding up sandals, sneakers, boots, and shoes with little sparkly things on them while trying to convince myself they were “practical.” Peanut followed me the whole time dragging dramatically across the floor like a tiny striped hostage.

Every few minutes Peanut would sit up on his back legs and beg random shoppers for cat treats like he hadn’t eaten in six years.

One lady actually opened her purse and said,
“Oh my goodness, you poor thing!”

Poor thing?!
That cat had snacks TWICE before we left the house.

Peanut then had the nerve to look back at me like,
“See? These people understand me.”

And Kiwi?
Nobody knew where Kiwi disappeared to for nearly twenty minutes.

We finally spotted him up in one of those decorative food court trees. He was perched way up high like some tiny feathery detective watching everybody below.

I swear he was judging every person carrying pretzels.

Every once in awhile he’d yell:
“WHATCHA EATIN’?!”
right as somebody sat down with fries.

At one point a teenager dropped nearly his whole milkshake because Kiwi leaned out of the tree and screamed,
“HEY BUDDY.”

The food court went completely silent for about three seconds before the Quackers started laughing so hard one of them snorted lemonade out his beak.

By the end of the trip:

• The Quackers declared the arcade “washed up.”
• Peanut collected enough treats to open a small business.
• Kiwi established full surveillance over the food court.
• And I somehow left with two pairs of shoes I definitely didn’t plan on buying.

So all in all…
pretty successful mall trip.

Lucy's Journal

Lucy’s Journal Entry — May 20, 2026

The gang gathered down at the local Sheetz this evening after work. The humans thought everybody was winding down for the night, but that was absolutely not the case. Kiwi, Peanut, and the quackers had officially begun planning Memorial Day Weekend operations.

The air smelled like gasoline, pepperoni rolls, curly fries, and just a tiny bit of bad decision making.

Lucy slid into the booth first carrying three pepperoni rolls and a giant sweet tea like she owned the place. Peanut jumped onto the seat beside her pretending to look sophisticated, but immediately stole half of Lucy’s mozzarella sticks when nobody was looking.

Kiwi was already bouncing around the table screaming:
“THREE DAY WEEKEND! THREE DAY WEEKEND!”

The quackers were all crowded around a basket of fries, loudly arguing over whether ranch or honey mustard was the superior dipping sauce. Things nearly turned violent.

Eventually Lucy got everybody under control enough to discuss the official weekend plans.

Since Kiwi never did finish building his “luxury tropical backyard waterfall paradise,” the group decided they should visit a real waterfall somewhere in the mountains instead. Kiwi became extremely excited at the idea of swimming and immediately attempted to cannonball directly into somebody’s cup of Dr Pepper.

The tentative plan now includes:

• Swimming all day in cold mountain water
• Peanut supervising from a dry rock while judging everybody
• Cooking hot dogs and burgers on a grill
• The quackers stealing every single chip bag they can find
• Kiwi attempting to become “King of the Waterfall”

Lucy said it actually sounded peaceful for once.

That peaceful feeling lasted approximately seven seconds.

Kiwi suddenly froze while staring out the Sheetz window into the parking lot.

There were cars everywhere.

Rows and rows of shiny clean cars.

Kiwi slowly turned back toward the group with the expression of a tiny feathery supervillain.

“There are too many cars,” he whispered.

The quackers immediately became interested.

Peanut narrowed his eyes and sighed because he already knew where this conversation was going.

Kiwi hopped onto the windowsill dramatically and declared:
“THIS PARKING LOT NEEDS MORE POOP.”

The quackers began quacking in support like tiny feathered henchmen.

Lucy nearly choked on her pepperoni roll laughing while Peanut buried his face in his paws and muttered:
“I can’t take these people anywhere.”

Kiwi then outlined what he called “Operation Memorial Droppings,” which apparently involves coordinated aerial chaos sometime this weekend. The quackers volunteered immediately because, according to them, teamwork makes the dream work.

Peanut has publicly denied involvement.

However… Lucy noticed him smirking a little.

This does not inspire confidence.

One thing is certain:
Memorial Day Weekend may never financially recover from this crew.

Lucy's Journal

 Lucy’s Journal — May 13, 2026

The evening air felt soft tonight, the kind that settles over the hills after a long spring day and makes folks slow down a little. Lucy and the crew had gathered out back by the old picnic table with lanterns glowing low and coffee cups steaming beside slices of pie nobody was quite hungry enough to finish.

Nobody had planned it exactly, but before long the conversation drifted to Nick Rehmani.

Funny how that happens. Some people leave behind stories so big that all it takes is one quiet evening for them to come walking back into the middle of things.

“You remember that laugh?” The Quackers said first, leaning back in his chair. “Man could fill up a whole room before he ever told the joke.”

Everybody smiled at that.

Lucy wrote that the thing about Nick was he never made people feel small. Didn’t matter if you were family, neighbor, stranger, or somebody who just wandered into the gathering because you smelled food from down the road — Nick always made room for one more chair.

Peanut laughed remembering how he used to insist everybody eat second helpings whether they wanted to or not.

“He acted offended if you didn’t,” she said. “‘What’s wrong with my cooking?’ he’d ask, even though everybody knew it was the best food in three counties.”

That brought the stories rolling.

Fishing trips that turned into all-night campfire talks.

Birthday parties where half the town somehow ended up invited.

Summers filled with kids running through the yard while Nick stood at the grill like some kind of backyard king holding court with an apron tied around his waist.

And then, of course, they talked about the prime rib.

Lucy said you could practically smell it just thinking about it.

Perfect every single time. Seasoned like magic, cooked slow and careful, tender enough to cut with the side of a fork. Folks said restaurants spent years trying to make prime rib that tasted half as good, but they never could. Maybe because Nick put more than seasoning into it. He put joy into it. Family into it. The feeling that supper mattered because the people around the table mattered.

“Wasn’t just food,” Kiwi said quietly. “It was being together.”

That hung in the air for a moment.

Lucy looked around the table and realized every single person there had been changed by Nick in some way. Some through friendship. Some through kindness. Some simply because he took the time to notice them when nobody else did.

That was his gift.

He made ordinary days feel important.

Before everybody headed home, Lucy wrote that they raised their coffee cups toward the darkening sky.

Not in sadness exactly.

More in gratitude.

Because some people leave behind enough warmth that even after they’re gone, folks still gather around it years later.

Lucy's Journal

Lucy’s Journal — May 6, 2025

This morning started with one of those bright, golden Appalachian suns that practically orders you outside. The kind that makes even the laziest among us (I’m looking at you, Quackers) feel like stretching their legs and pretending we’re the outdoorsy type.

So naturally, we decided to head down to the rail trail in Morgantown.

Now, getting everyone organized is always an adventure. Squeakers insisted on bringing snacks (which he ate before we even reached the trailhead), Quackers kept asking if there would be “rest stops with bread,” and Marvin—well, Marvin just stared thoughtfully at a stick for a good ten minutes before declaring it “a walking companion.”

Eventually, we made it.

The trail was alive today—joggers, cyclists, and folks just out enjoying the day—but once we got a little farther out toward Van Voorhis, things settled into that quiet, peaceful rhythm you only find along the rails-to-trails. The kind where your footsteps and the occasional bird call are the loudest things around.

That’s when old Mr. Jenkins, who seems to appear out of nowhere whenever a story is about to be told, slowed his pace and pointed down toward a small, weathered house tucked just off the trail.

“You see that place?” he said.

Of course we did. It wasn’t much to look at—just a modest little house, the kind you might pass by without a second thought. But something about it felt… still. Like it was holding onto something.

“That’s where Ellis Hall used to live,” Mr. Jenkins continued. “Best fiddle player you ever heard.”

Now that got everyone’s attention.

Even Quackers stopped asking about bread.

Mr. Jenkins told us that Ellis Hall wasn’t famous in the way you’d hear on the radio, but around here, his music carried. Folks said you could hear his fiddle drifting down the valley in the evenings, bouncing off the hills like it was part of the land itself. On summer nights, people would sit on their porches just to listen. No invitations, no tickets—just music finding its way to whoever needed it.

Squeakers asked if Ellis played fast tunes or slow ones.

“All of ‘em,” Mr. Jenkins said with a smile. “But the slow ones… those are the ones folks remembered.”

Marvin, still holding his “walking companion” stick, asked if the music is still there.

Mr. Jenkins didn’t laugh at that. He just looked back at the little house and said, “Some say if you walk by here quiet enough, you might still hear it.”

Well.

You can imagine what happened next.

We all got very quiet.

No crunching gravel. No chatter. Even Quackers held it together (a minor miracle). We stood there, listening to the breeze move through the trees, the distant hum of the trail behind us…

…and for just a moment, I swear, there was something else.

Maybe it was just the wind catching the right angle. Maybe it was imagination. Or maybe—just maybe—it was a faint, lingering note of a fiddle that never quite left.

We didn’t say much after that. Just nodded to each other and kept walking.

Sometimes the best stories aren’t the loudest ones.

Sometimes they’re the ones you have to be quiet enough to hear.

—Lucy

Lucy's Journal

Lucy’s Journal – April 29, 2026

This morning started like most others—with a questionable idea and way too much confidence.

“Let’s go ride that little train thing,” I said.

“The what?” asked Peanut, flicking his tail like he already knew it was going to be a problem.

“The PRT,” I said. “People ride it all over Morgantown. How hard can it be?”

That was mistake number one.

---

We made our way to the Med Center Station, which looked simple enough—just some doors, a few machines, and people walking around like they knew exactly what they were doing.

We did not.

The ticket machine was the first obstacle. It had buttons. Too many buttons.

Kiwi hopped up onto the edge of it and started pecking at the screen like he was ordering lunch.

“You just bought something,” I told him.

“Good,” he chirped. “I hope it’s snacks.”

Peanut squinted at the instructions. “Why does it say ‘Select Destination’? Isn’t the destination ‘ride the thing’?”

“No,” I said, already losing patience. “We want Walnut Station downtown.”

The machine beeped angrily.

“That didn’t sound like success,” Peanut observed.

---

Meanwhile, the Quackers had formed a separate committee about halfway across the lobby.

“We vote Beechurst!” one of them declared.

“Why Beechurst?” I asked.

“Chicks,” they all said in unison.

I should have known.

“You are not getting off early to ‘check out chicks,’” I said.

“That sounds like discrimination,” one of them muttered.

---

Back at the gate, we discovered the next problem: you have to scan something to get through.

Kiwi tried to walk straight through the turnstile and got gently bonked back.

Peanut watched this happen and said, “Good system.”

I waved the ticket (or whatever Kiwi had purchased) in front of the scanner. Nothing.

I flipped it over. Still nothing.

One of the Quackers tried to go under the gate.

Another tried to go over it.

A third just sat down and refused to participate.

Finally, a nice human came over and said, “You have to scan it like this.”

We all pretended we knew that already.

---

Once inside, we faced the ultimate question:

“Which platform do we go to?” Peanut asked.

“There are only two,” I said confidently.

“Yes,” he replied, “and we are somehow still confused.”

The sign said something about directions that made perfect sense to everyone except us.

Kiwi suggested we just get on the next one that showed up.

“That’s how you end up somewhere weird,” Peanut said.

“Adventure,” Kiwi countered.

---

A car finally arrived, and chaos took over.

The doors opened.

The Quackers rushed forward like it was a bread sale.

“Beechurst! Beechurst!” they chanted.

“No! Walnut!” I yelled.

In the confusion, one Quacker tried to argue with the automated voice.

Another asked a passing student, “Are there chicks at Walnut?”

The student did not respond.

---

We made it onto the car—miraculously—and the doors closed before anyone could escape at Beechurst.

The Quackers pressed their beaks against the window dramatically as we passed it.

“Goodbye, opportunities,” one of them whispered.

---

The ride itself was… actually pretty nice.

Smooth. Quiet. Efficient.

Peanut relaxed immediately. “Okay,” he said, “this part I like.”

Kiwi ran back and forth inspecting everything like he was in charge of safety.

“Solid vehicle,” he declared.

---

When we finally arrived at Walnut Station, we stepped off like seasoned professionals.

“See?” I said. “We figured it out.”

Peanut looked at me. “It took us 45 minutes to get through a gate.”

“That’s part of the journey,” I said.

Behind us, one of the Quackers asked, “So how do we get back to Beechurst?”

I pretended not to hear.

---

Conclusion:
The PRT is a fine system.

We are not a fine system.

But we made it to Walnut—and honestly, that feels like a win.

Lucy's Journal

Lucy’s Journal – April 22, 2026

Dear Journal,

Today started out as one of those “this is either going to be a great idea or a terrible idea” kind of days… and honestly, I still haven’t decided which one it was.

It all began when I announced to everyone that we were putting in a garden out back. Not a normal garden, though. Oh no. We were going to grow useful things. Delicious things. Revolutionary things.

“Pepperoni rolls,” I said proudly.

Kiwi tilted his head like I’d finally lost it. Peanut just blinked slowly, which I’ve learned means, this is going to be chaos and I’m here for it.

The Quackers? They didn’t ask questions. They immediately grabbed… well, I’m not sure where they got tiny shovels, but suddenly they had them and were marching toward the backyard like a construction crew that quacks instead of talks.

Within minutes, the yard looked like we were searching for buried treasure.

I supervised.

(Important role.)

We dug up a nice big patch of dirt, and I carefully explained the planting process:
Step 1: Bury pepperoni.
Step 2: Bury rolls.
Step 3: Wait for nature to do its thing.

Kiwi kept insisting that’s “not how agriculture works,” but I reminded him that he once tried to hide sunflower seeds in the couch cushions to “grow a snack couch,” so I wasn’t taking criticism.

Peanut helped by batting pepperoni slices into the holes… and occasionally eating the evidence.

The Quackers, meanwhile, had gone completely rogue.

Instead of following the pepperoni-roll plan, they had formed a very serious assembly line and were planting pickles. Just… whole pickles. One after another.

I asked what they were doing, and they all stopped, looked at me, and gave one very firm, unified:

“Quack.”

Which I’m pretty sure means, mind your business.

At one point, I decided to improve the garden by introducing bacon bits.

“Imagine it,” I said. “A bacon bit bush. We’d never have to buy salad toppings again.”

Kiwi nearly fell off the fence.

Peanut seemed supportive until he realized bacon bits weren’t immediately edible in large quantities (he tested this thoroughly).

We covered everything up, patted the dirt down, and stood back to admire our work.

Our beautiful, confusing garden.

Rows of future pepperoni rolls.
A mysterious pickle patch run entirely by ducks.
And one experimental section labeled “bacon bits (pending).”

If this works, we’re geniuses.

If it doesn’t… we’re still probably going to dig it all up and eat whatever we find anyway.

Either way, I’m calling today a success.

Now we wait.

—Lucy

Lucy’s Journal – Harvest Day (a.k.a. The Moment of Truth)

Dear Journal,

Today… we harvested the garden.

I woke up feeling confident. Excited. Possibly even a little famous, because I was pretty sure we had invented agriculture 2.0.

Kiwi, however, had the look of someone preparing to say “I told you so” at least twelve times.

Peanut stretched, yawned, and immediately walked outside like, let’s see what snacks grew overnight.

The Quackers were already out there. Of course they were. Standing in a neat little row. Watching the garden.

Guarding it.

From what? Not sure. Possibly from us.

We gathered around our masterpiece:

• The Pepperoni Roll Patch
• The Pickle Zone (Quacker-operated)
• The Bacon Bits (Pending… still)

I grabbed the first shovel.

“Moment of truth,” I said.

I dug into the pepperoni roll section… slowly… dramatically… like I was uncovering buried treasure.

And what did we find?

Not pepperoni rolls.

Not even close.

Just… dirt. Slightly greasier dirt. And one very questionable piece of pepperoni that Peanut immediately tried to eat before Kiwi smacked it away.

“Well,” Kiwi said, puffing up a bit, “as I have been explaining—”

“Next section!” I interrupted.

We moved on to the pickle patch.

Now THIS is where things got interesting.

The Quackers rushed in, shoving us aside (rude), and began digging like their lives depended on it.

And somehow…

Somehow…

There were MORE pickles.

Not grown. Not attached to anything. Just… buried pickles. More than we remembered planting.

The Quackers were thrilled.

They started tossing pickles around, quacking like they had just discovered gold. One of them even hugged a pickle. I didn’t know that was possible, but it happened.

Peanut grabbed one and ran off like he’d won a prize.

Kiwi just stared and said, “That’s not how plants work. That’s not how anything works.”

I’m choosing to count that as a partial success.

Then came the bacon bits section.

We all leaned in.

I dug carefully.

Nothing.

Dug deeper.

Still nothing.

Not a single bacon bit sprout.

I sat back and sighed. “The dream… is gone.”

Peanut checked anyway. Thoroughly. Just in case.

The Quackers offered me a consolation pickle.

Kiwi looked very satisfied.

BUT—

I have a new theory.

Maybe bacon bits don’t grow in spring.

Maybe they’re a fall crop.

Or… maybe… we need to water them with ranch dressing.

I haven’t ruled anything out yet.

So yes, technically, the garden didn’t work.

But also?

We now have a pile of slightly dirt-flavored pepperoni, an overwhelming number of mystery pickles, and a brand new plan for next season.

I’m calling it:

Garden 2.0 – Now With Science

Kiwi says he’s in charge of the science this time.

We’ll see about that.

—Lucy

Lucy's Journal

Lucy’s Journal – April 15, 2026

Dear Journal,

This morning started with what Kiwi dramatically called “The Great Human Panic of Tax Day.” Everywhere we looked, people were rushing around like squirrels that just remembered they buried their nuts… but couldn’t remember where.

Peanut sat in the window, flicking his tail, watching cars zoom by like they were in some kind of race. “You’d think the government was handing out free tuna the way they’re acting,” he said.

Kiwi puffed up and chimed in, “Maybe they forgot to do their paperwork! Imagine waiting ALL YEAR and then—BOOM—last minute panic!” He flapped around like a tiny green accountant having a meltdown.

The Quackers were less concerned and more entertained. They lined up like little judges on the porch, quacking every time someone sped past. “Late! Late! Definitely late!” they declared, as if handing out penalties.

I’ll admit… we all laughed a lot this morning.

By afternoon, things had settled down, and that’s when Peanut got that look—you know the one. The “I have a terrible idea and I’m proud of it” look.

Next thing I know, we’re all down at the downtown parking garage.

“Alright,” Peanut whispered, like we were in some kind of heist movie, “keep your eyes open.”

“For what?” I asked.

“For opportunity,” he said.

Kiwi landed on a railing, looking suspiciously official. “We are conducting… inspections,” he announced.

Turns out, Peanut’s “plan” was to check for unlocked cars. And, well… you can probably guess the rest.

Let’s just say the Quackers thought this was the funniest mission of all time. They waddled around like a coordinated squad, giggling (yes, giggling) and keeping lookout.

Kiwi kept shouting things like, “Target acquired!” and “Abort! Windows up!” which made it feel way more serious than it was.

I tried to be the responsible one. I really did. But somewhere between Peanut’s sneaky tiptoeing and Kiwi’s dramatic commentary, I lost it and started laughing so hard I had to sit down.

We didn’t cause too much trouble (Peanut insists it was “just light mischief”), but we definitely left our mark on the day.

On the walk home, Peanut looked very satisfied with himself.

“Best. Tax Day. Ever,” he said.

Kiwi nodded. “Way better than paperwork.”

The Quackers just quacked in agreement.

And honestly? I can’t argue with that.

—Lucy 🐾

Lucy's Journal

Lucy’s Journal – April 8, 2026

Dear Journal,

Today started with a very serious plan. Kiwi said we were going on an adventure—like in that movie where the kids walk along train tracks and have a big journey and discover themselves (or at least find something dramatic).

Peanut was immediately on board, mostly because he thought there would be snacks involved. The Quackers didn’t really understand the assignment but loudly agreed anyway, which is pretty standard for them.

So off we went.

Kiwi took the lead, puffed up like some kind of feathery explorer, declaring, “All great adventures require train tracks!” Peanut nodded like he knew exactly what that meant, even though I’m pretty sure he was just hoping for a hot dog stand somewhere along the way.

We walked. And walked. And walked some more.

Around neighborhoods. Past the river. Up a hill. Back down another hill. The Quackers argued the entire time about which direction “felt more train-tracky,” which, for the record, is not a real navigational method.

At one point, Kiwi climbed up onto a fence post, looked around dramatically, and announced, “They have to be around here somewhere!”

They were not.

Peanut started to get suspicious about an hour in.

“Are we sure Morgantown even has these things?” he asked, flopping down dramatically on the sidewalk.

Kiwi refused to admit defeat. “All great stories involve perseverance,” he said.

“Yes,” I said, “but most of those stories also involve actually finding what you’re looking for.”

After what felt like forever (and at least three wrong turns suggested by the Quackers), we all kind of just… stopped.

There were no train tracks.

No grand discovery.

No dramatic movie moment.

Just us, a little tired, a little confused, and very aware that we had absolutely no idea where we were going anymore.

That’s when Peanut said the smartest thing anyone said all day:

“Ice cream?”

And just like that, the adventure changed direction.

We found a little shop, piled in, and ordered way too much. Kiwi tried to “sample” everyone’s cones (without permission, of course), the Quackers managed to get ice cream on each other, and Peanut dropped his scoop and stared at it like his whole world had ended… before immediately ordering another.

We sat there laughing about how we set out for this big, meaningful journey and ended up completely failing to even find train tracks.

But honestly?

It didn’t feel like a failure.

It felt like one of the best days we’ve had in a while.

Turns out you don’t need train tracks to have an adventure.

Sometimes you just need your favorite crew, a questionable sense of direction, and a really good ice cream cone.

—Lucy

Lucy's Journal

Lucy’s Journal – April 1, 2026

Dear Journal,

I should have known something was up the second I woke up and heard what sounded like… splashing? Not the normal “someone knocked over the water dish again” kind of splashing. No, this was full-on river level splashing.

I wandered outside, still half asleep, and nearly dropped my coffee.

The backyard was… gone.

Well—not gone gone—but completely transformed. Where grass and the little half-finished waterfall used to be, there was now a full-blown WATER PARK. I’m talking winding slides, a towering waterfall cascading into a sparkling pool, and—get this—a lazy river looping all the way around the yard.

And right at the center of it all stood Kiwi and Peanut.

Kiwi (the tiniest construction foreman in history) was perched proudly on top of the waterfall, feathers puffed, chirping like he’d just engineered Niagara Falls. Peanut sat beside him, tail flicking with that “yes, I did this” look, like a gray tiger-striped mastermind.

I blinked. Twice.

“Did… did you two build this overnight?” I asked.

Kiwi chirped loudly.

Peanut just slowly blinked at me like, obviously.

Before I could even process it, the Quackers came waddling past me—wearing what I swear were tiny inflatable floaties—and hopped straight into the lazy river. A moment later, I found myself being gently “encouraged” (nudged, splashed, and mildly harassed) into joining them.

And you know what?

I did.

Next thing I knew, I was floating along in the lazy river with the Quackers, drifting under the waterfall Kiwi and Peanut had “built,” listening to the peaceful sound of rushing water. It was actually… kind of perfect. The sun was shining, the water was just right, and for a brief moment, I thought:

Wow… they really did it. They finished the waterfall. They built a whole water park. This is amazing.

That’s when the first duck bumped into me and whispered (well… as much as a duck can whisper):

“April Fools.”

And just like that—

POOF.

The slides vanished. The lazy river disappeared. The grand waterfall shrank back down to its half-finished trickle.

I was sitting in a slightly damp lawn chair. The Quackers were standing in a kiddie pool. Kiwi was hanging upside down from a branch like nothing happened. And Peanut? Peanut was sprawled out in the sun, looking extremely pleased with himself.

I just sat there for a second.

Then I laughed.

“Okay,” I said, pointing at them. “That was a good one. I’ll give you that.”

Kiwi chirped triumphantly.

Peanut didn’t move—but I know he smirked.

Still… for a minute there, it really felt like we had our own backyard water park.

And honestly?

I kind of wish it was real.

—Lucy

Lucy's Journal

March 25, 2026

Dear Journal,

Today started out like one of those “this seems like a peaceful idea” kind of days… which should have been my first warning that it absolutely was not going to stay that way.

Ed suggested we all go fishing down at the Monongahela River. Fresh air, calm water, maybe catch a few fish—nice and relaxing, right? So of course I packed up Peanut, Kiwi, the Quackers, and the rest of our usual troublemakers and off we went.

For about… oh, I don’t know… six minutes, everything was perfect.

Peanut was sitting on a rock like a seasoned fisherman, tail wrapped neatly around his paws, staring intensely at the water like he was about to solve the mysteries of the universe. Kiwi, on the other hand, was NOT interested in patience. He kept hopping from shoulder to shoulder yelling, “FISHY! FISHY! GET THE FISHY!” like a tiny, feathery coach who had way too much caffeine.

And then… the Quackers.

At first, they were actually fishing. I know. I was shocked too.

But the moment the first carp was pulled out of the water, it was over.

“I caught the biggest one!” shouted one.

“NO YOU DID NOT, MINE IS CLEARLY BIGGER!” yelled the other.

They started lining the fish up side by side, measuring them with sticks, wings, and at one point—I am not kidding—one of them tried to eyeball it by comparing it to his beak.

Kiwi immediately declared himself the official judge, which somehow made things worse.

Peanut just slowly blinked and moved three feet farther away.

The argument escalated quickly. Voices got louder, wings started flapping, and before I could step in—

SMACK.

One of the Quackers slapped the other with a fish.

And that, dear Journal, was the exact moment things went completely off the rails.

Within seconds, it turned into an all-out dead fish food fight.

Fish were flying everywhere.

Kiwi was dive-bombing through the chaos like a tiny green missile, squawking battle cries and somehow throwing pieces of fish mid-flight. Peanut tried to maintain dignity for approximately two seconds before getting smacked in the side by a rogue carp—and then he joined in with surprising enthusiasm.

I tried to stop it. I really did.

But then I got hit.

Right in the shoulder.

With a fish.

And honestly? At that point, it felt personal.

So yes, I regret nothing.

There we were, a full-blown fish fight on the banks of the Monongahela, laughing, slipping, dodging flying carp like it was some kind of bizarre Olympic event.

By the end of it, we were all exhausted, smelled absolutely terrible, and had probably scared off every fish within a mile.

Peanut was covered in fish scales but looked oddly proud of himself.

Kiwi declared it “BEST DAY EVER” approximately 47 times.

The Quackers? Still arguing about whose fish was bigger.

Of course.

We packed up what little dignity we had left and headed home, leaving behind what I can only assume will become a very confusing story for anyone else who visits that spot.

All in all?

Not exactly the peaceful fishing trip we planned…

…but definitely one I won’t forget.

—Lucy