Camping Trip

Dis weekend, on the first ob summer ebening, the boys packed up their tiny satchels wiff snacks, maps, and extra socks (eben though none ob them wore socks) and headed off on a grand camping adbenture.

They set up their campsite deep in the forest with cozy tents shaped like s’mores and soft glamping teepees with pom-pom trim. Baxter popped his head out of his cookie tent, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Tonight, we roast marshmallows!” he declared.

Barry fluffed his sleeping mat wiff extra care. “Let’s not forget the chocolate. It’s not a s’more without it!” he said, holding up his perfectly stacked graham cracker supply.

Reuben, eber the practical one, built a felt campfire wiff just the right amount of glow. “We’ll take shifts watching for bears,” he said solemnly, nibbling a marshmallow just to test its freshness.

As night fell, they gathered around the “fire,” roasting marshmallows on tiny sticks. The s’mores were gooey perfection, and they giggled with delight between bites.

Suddenly, a twig snapped in the distance. All three froze. Baxter held his s’more mid-air. Barry slowly peeked out ob his tent. Reuben whispered, “Did you hear that?”

They dove into action—Reuben doused the pretend fire wiff water, Barry zipped the snack bag shut, and Baxter squeaked out the password: “CheddarCheddarCheddar!”

It was just a curious squirrel.

Relieved, they snuggled back into their tents. Baxter whispered, “Next time, let’s camp in the living room.” But deep down, they all agreed: nothing beats the thrill of the wild.

Except maybe the s’mores.

Fank you Ratty Box for the fun adbenture!