Deep in the heart of the forest, nestled beside a gently gurgling river and surrounded by towering pine trees that whispered secrets to the wind, a small camping circle had been formed. In the middle stood a crackling fire, cheerfully spitting sparks into the twilight, casting flickering shadows on a crowd of eager, tail-wagging adventurers. The time had come for that sacred canine tradition,  Campfire Confessions.
Athena, the reigning queen of grace and mischief, sat perched on a folded-up camping blanket like she was on a throne, fur glistening with the last glimmers of sunset. One eye the color of freshly cracked ice, the other like warm, melted chocolate, she surveyed the circle with regal poise. Her tail swished behind her like a velvet curtain with attitude. The glow of the fire made her bi-eyes sparkle with a mischievous glee that suggested she was about to traumatize at least three dogs and a possum with her story.
To her right was Obito, who had somehow managed to wear not one, but two marshmallows stuck to his forehead like confused unicorn horns. At Eleven months old, he had the proportions of a Clydesdale and the spatial awareness of a bumper car. He sat, tongue lolling, massive paws splayed like fluffy cinder blocks, with an expression that screamed “I have thoughts, but none of them are allowed to drive.” Every so often, he leaned in to give Athena a big, wet, unsolicited kiss, earning a dramatic sigh and a look of betrayal from his big sister.
“Alright, dogs and dudes,” Athena announced, her voice low and dramatic, doing her best to sound like a haunted but well-read librarian. “Tonight, we tell the truth. The raw, unfiltered horror of summer past.”
Gasps echoed around the fire. A golden retriever dropped a stick in shock. A Chihuahua fainted (though to be fair, she did that every time the wind changed).
Athena stood, ears erect, tail poised like a punctuation mark. “It was a dark and stormy night, actually no, it was sunny and 24 degrees with a mild breeze. Anyway. There I was, basking in my royal garden, overseeing my flower kingdom. The roses were thriving, the daisies were blooming, and the lawn—ah, the lawn was pristine. Until I remembered something. Something horrifying.”
The circle leaned in. Even the possum, who wasn’t technically invited, stopped pretending to be dead.
“I remembered… there were TREASURES beneath the surface.”
She paused dramatically.
“So naturally, I dug. And dug. And dug until the garden looked like it had been used for artillery practice. I unearthed a sock from 2017, a suspiciously buried chew toy I don’t remember owning, and half a sandwich, which I assume was a peace offering from the squirrels.”
There was a collective “ooooh” from the crowd.
“But just when I thought I had conquered the backyard, I heard the sound. A shriek. A human. It was Mum. She looked at her flowerbed and screamed like I had buried a body. Which I hadn’t. This time. But apparently, roses don’t thrive when you relocate them… violently.”
Obito snorted and started giggling, which for him meant a full-body wiggle followed by an accidental sneeze that launched one of the marshmallows into the fire.
Athena rolled her eyes. “Anyway. That was the day I was unfairly nicknamed ‘Miss Pants’, for reasons unknown and slanderous. But let’s move on. Obito. Your turn.”
Obito stood up too fast, tripped over his own paw, and body-slammed a cooler. When he finally settled, one ear was flopped inside out, and he looked like a very large toddler who had just discovered gravity. He beamed. “Okay so, guys. Listen. I was being SO sneaky. Like a ninja! Like… a marshmallow-hunting ninja.”
Athena facepawed.
Obito continued, eyes wide with enthusiasm. “So it was late, like super-late. Like 9 p.m. I saw the humans roasting marshmallows. And I thought: What if… I became… the marshmallow? So I crept, like a whisper, like fog in the night, toward the bag.”
“Obito, you tripped over a lantern and screamed ‘SNEAK MODE!’ out loud,” Athena interjected.
“Semantics,” Obito replied, proudly. “I grabbed the bag with my mouth. Victory was mine. Until I realised something… marshmallow bags are plastic. I bit down, and the entire thing popped like a balloon. Marshmallows everywhere. Raining from the sky. I panicked. Tried to hide them. Ate five. Got them stuck to my nose. Accidentally flung one at a cat. Cat is still mad.”
A Labrador in the circle burst into a fit of howling laughter. The possum blinked twice and collapsed again.
Obito wasn’t done. “Then the worst part. I tried to bury the evidence. In the tent. With Mum’s sleeping bag. Which is how I earned the noble and ancient title of Mr Toe Beans the Sticky.”
The campfire erupted into pure canine chaos. Howls of laughter. Dogs rolling on their backs. One spaniel laughed so hard she rolled into the river and had to be fished out by a border collie with a flashlight.
Athena gave a small, satisfied smile. “And that, friends, is the horror of the marshmallow massacre. We are survivors.”
Obito nodded solemnly, even though he had marshmallow fluff in his eyebrow and hadn’t noticed.
As the night wore on and the stars twinkled overhead like cosmic tennis balls, the dogs continued to share tales of summer misadventures. There were stories of squirrel uprisings, frisbee betrayals, one incident involving peanut butter and a drone, and of course, the time a Great Dane mistook a skunk for a pillow.
But none topped the sheer tragic comedy of Athena and Obito’s stories. And as the fire crackled down to embers and the snores of a dozen exhausted dogs rose into the night, Athena curled into her blanket like a queen retreating into velvet robes. Obito flopped beside her with a happy grunt, one giant paw landing squarely on her tail.
She sighed.
He drooled.
And together, the unlikely duo of elegance and chaos drifted into dreams of garden excavations, flying marshmallows, and whatever mischief tomorrow promised. Because when you’re Miss Pants and Mr Toe Beans, adventure is always just a sniff away.


©️Lainey Green - Intwined.blog