Blossom and Ariel’s Christmas Cookie Heist

Blossom and Ariel’s Christmas Cookie Heist

It was Christmas morning, and the smell of freshly baked cookies filled the air. Ariel the Maltipoo peeked over the counter, her tiny nose twitching.

“Blossom!” Ariel whispered. “I found Santa’s cookies! Let’s grab them before the humans wake up!”

Blossom the Borzoi, lying elegantly on the couch, sighed. “Ariel, stealing cookies is naughty. But since you’re already short enough to be on the naughty list, go ahead.”

Ariel rolled her eyes. “Fine, tall lady. But if I get caught, I’m blaming your giant nose for sniffing them out first!”

With a daring leap, Ariel climbed onto a chair, then onto the counter. Just as she snagged a cookie, she lost her footing and tumbled into the flour canister.

Blossom walked over, her long legs gliding gracefully. She stared at the now white-coated Maltipoo.

“What are you supposed to be? A powdered donut?” Blossom asked, stifling a laugh.

Ariel grinned, covered head to tail in flour. “Nope! I’m Santa’s snow dog now. What’s your excuse?”

Their human walked in, took one look, and said, “Blossom, how did you let this happen?”

Blossom tilted her head innocently. “Me? I don’t have thumbs. Clearly, the elf here did it.”

Lesson learned? Never pull a heist with a Maltipoo unless you’re prepared for flour explosions and blaming it all on Santa!

Art: ‘Floury Festivities: Mischief In The Kitchen”

© 2024 Samantha Syrnich TLC

Unknown's avatar

Published by Samantha Syrnich TLC

About The Hand Behind The Phoenix Quill— I’ve lived many lives within one — some born of light, some forged in fire. Each left its mark, and in the ashes, I found my voice. The Phoenix Quill was never just a name; it became my heartbeat — a place where pain turned to purpose, and truth was no longer something to survive, but something to share. I am a poet, artist, advocate, and storyteller — guided by a love that refuses to die quietly. Through words and imagery, I tell stories of resilience, of rising when the world says you’ve fallen too far. My work carries pieces of the people and places that shaped me — veterans, children, the voiceless, the forgotten — and the fire that demanded their stories be heard. Every poem, every painting, every creation under The Phoenix Quill is born from that promise: to turn heartbreak into healing, to honor truth even when it burns, and to remind others that they, too, can rise. This is my life’s work — to give voice to the silence, hope to the weary, and beauty to the broken. Welcome to The Phoenix Quill: Words Born of Fire, Inked in Truth. Where ashes become art — and every word remembers how to rise.

Leave a Comment