Part of the Benji Pawprints and the Secrets of the Wild series
Hello there, my dear friends! It's me, Benji Pawprints, and oh my whiskers, do I have a tale to tell you today.
You know how sometimes the most ordinary morning can turn into the most extraordinary adventure? Well, that's exactly what happened to me on a misty Tuesday when the autumn leaves were just beginning to paint themselves gold and crimson around our beloved pond.
I'd been doing my usual morning patrol—checking my "sniff-mail" as I like to call it. You see, for us dogs, interesting smells are like reading the news or scrolling through social media. A quick sniff at the base of the old oak tree told me that Bramble the fox had passed by around midnight (chicken dinner—lucky fellow!). The reeds near the boat launch carried the scent of Mrs. Mallard and her latest gossip about the moorhens. And there, on my favorite muddy path, I caught wind of something new—something I'd never smelled before.
It was sweet and wild, like fresh water and ancient stories all mixed together.
My fluffy coat was still damp with morning dew, and my paws made soft squelching sounds as I followed this mysterious new scent around the path that winds around what everyone calls the Princes Pond—though Fiona tells me its proper name is Crumbles Pond, right here in Princes Park. The park got its royal name back in 1931 when a real prince visited and planted an evergreen oak tree. So you see, there's always been something princely about this place!
Now, you might wonder if there's even more to the story of why it feels so special. Well, settle in close, because this is where our adventure truly begins.
As I rounded the bend where the old oak tree dips its gnarled branches into the water, I stopped dead in my tracks. There, gliding across the pond like living poetry, were three of the most magnificent creatures I'd ever seen.
Swans! Not just any swans, mind you, but mute swans so pristine and graceful they seemed to have stepped straight out of a fairy tale. Their necks curved like question marks written in white silk, and when they moved, barely a ripple disturbed the mirror-calm water.
My tail started wagging so hard I nearly knocked myself over. You see, I'd heard about these royal birds from the older creatures around the pond—the wise old coot who'd lived here for seven years, and Mrs. Mallard who knew every piece of pond gossip worth knowing. But I'd never seen them myself.
The largest swan, clearly the male with his proud bearing and slightly more orange beak, caught sight of me watching from the reedy shore. Instead of swimming away as I expected, he did something quite remarkable. He lifted himself slightly in the water, spread his enormous wings—goodness me, they must have been eight feet across!—and gave me what I can only describe as a regal nod.
"Good morning, young Benji," he said, his voice carrying across the water like a gentle breeze. "I am Cygnus, and these are my beloved wife, Luna, and our grown son, Stellan."
My jaw dropped open so wide I'm sure I looked like I was trying to catch flies. Not only could I understand him (which happens sometimes with special wild friends), but he knew my name!
Luna glided closer, her movements so elegant I felt quite clumsy with my four muddy paws. "We've heard about you, little storyteller," she said warmly. "The pond creatures speak of your curiosity and kind heart."
Stellan, their son, was younger and had that slightly awkward energy that reminded me of teenage humans. "Are you really the dog who helps other animals understand the old ways?" he asked, excitement rippling through his voice like water over stones.
I sat down properly, wrapping my fluffy tail around my paws in my most respectful pose. "I try my best," I said honestly. "I love learning about the wild world and the stories that connect us all."