Hello, Invisible Subjects.  Queen Bitty here.

As many of you dutifully and rightfully acknowledged, it was my birthday on Friday.

Well, it was Bear’s birthday too.  But like most boys, he’s simple.  Just give him a warm lap to sleep on and a handful of cheese, maybe a spoonful of peanut butter, and he’s the happiest dog in the world.

He really loves peanut butter.

So do I.  I’ll even run across the house to lick the knife after the Blond Duck’s made Ben a peanut butter foldover.  And I don’t normally run.  I prance regally.

If you tell anyone that, I’ll throw you in the dungeon.

We don’t find a dungeon?  I’ll build one.

Anyway, we had a delightful birthday with delectable treats that will be revealed Thursday.  Until then, check out this week’s newest Miss Pickles.  It’s full of whimsy and fun.

You can read about the first tale and the Blond Duck’s published book, Miss Pickles, here. Previous editions can be read here.

Meanwhile, I’m going to go find someone to build me a dungeon.  Just in case.  With a dragon to guard the door.

Does anyone want to buy me a dragon for a belated birthday present?

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Hooking his arms over the railing, Mason watched the jagged edge of the island stream by as the boat zoomed around the shore.

“So what was the Ladybug Castle like?” Don asked, plopping down next to him.  His cheeks were green and his eyes faint as he took several deep breaths.  He refused to look at Ralph, who was funneling crab cakes in his mouth like a competitive eater.

“Did they feed you?” Ralph asked eagerly, not noticing Don’s sickly hue.

“No, but the Queen was making treats for a big parfait party they’re having,” Mason replied.  “Ladybug is turning 16, which means that she has to find a purpose in order to get her name.  She’s the Queen’s granddaughter, so it’s a real big deal.  But if we don’t get her back before midnight, not only will she not have a name, she won’t have a purpose.”

Don frowned, then winced as the boat slammed into a hard wave.  Gripping the rail, he croaked, “Why was she making parfaits for her own party?”

“She has to fill them with enchanted berries,” Mason answered.  “Whoever finds the special berry becomes the next Queen.”

“I could be a Queen?”  Ralph’s eyes bugged out and a insipid grin crept across his plump cheeks.  “I bet I could find the berry.”

“You’d be a king,” Don snarled, grabbing his stomach as the boat lurched upwards.  “A ridiculous king, but a king indeed.”  He rubbed his ears and glared at Mason.  “When does the giggling stop?”

Mason frowned.  “I haven’t heard it since we got on the boat.”

“It’s all I’ve heard,” Don snapped, closing his eyes and raising his face to the cool sea air.  “Between that obnoxious laughter and these ridiculous waves, I’m going to be sick.”

Mason frowned and bit his lip.  “Miss Pickles!” he called.  “Miss Pickles!”

“Ahoy, duckie!”  Miss Pickles cried, leaping down from the top deck where she had been manning the wheel and singing pirate chanteys at the top of her lungs, much to the delight of the other students.  She wore a large velvet hat, a pink dress with tall leather boots brandishing garish brass buckles and a ribbon belt with a sword dangling off the side.  Large golden hoops swung from her ears and a parrot peered over her shoulder. “What seems to be the trouble with ye?”

“Ye?” Don repeated, glaring at her.

“Aye!” Miss Pickles shouted, pulling a pink curved sword from a ribbon tied around her waist.  “We must be pirates today, aye!  For what fun is being on a boat if you can’t be a pirate?”

“What do pirates eat?” Ralph asked suspiciously.

“I’m going to be sick,” Don muttered, cradling his head in his hands.

“Everything, duckie!” Miss Pickles answered Ralph.  “Especially oranges and rum, arg!  But no rum for ye!”

Ralph shrugged.  “As long as I can eat cookies and cupcakes, I’m happy.”

“Miss Pickles, Don is still hearing the Giggler,” Mason interrupted, not wanting to get Ralph started on the subject of cookies and cupcakes.  He had written a 10-page analysis of each once.   “But I don’t hear him.  How can he hear him if I can’t?”

Miss Pickles eyes widened.  Leaning forward, she stared at Don.  Her lips opened and closed, but no sound came out.

“Of course I can hear you!” Don roared, his hands still clamped firmly around his ears.  He glared at her, his face twisting in a scowl.  “I’m not deaf just because this insane creature keeps chortling in my head!  I’m seasick, I’m cranky and I’m tired of listening to it!”

“Remarkable,” Miss Pickles breathed.  A wide grin spread over her face.  Jamming a velvet hat lined with golden trim on her head that looked like something a bad actor would wear, she scampered up to the top deck.  “Ladybug, this is going to be easier than we thought!  Don’s got the gift!”

“Really?”  Ladybug dropped her magazine and jumped up.  “He does?”

Miss Pickles bobbed her head, matching the parrot on her shoulder. “He can hear the Giggler this far from shore.”

“This is great!” the Ladybug cried, clapping her hands.

“How is this great?” Mason asked, shooting a worried glance at his miserable friend.

Miss Pickles glanced at Don, now a deeper shade of green as the boat skipped through choppy waves.  “Don, I want you to close your eyes and tell me what you hear.”

“Giggling,” Don responded automatically.  “Hours and hours of ridiculous giggling.”

“No, no,” Miss Pickles replied, shaking her head.  “I need you to focus, to listen.  It’ll be as light as a whisper, as faint as a wisp of smoke.  It’ll sound like magic.  You’ll know it when you hear it.  When you hear that sound, yell and point in the direction.”

Mason’s brow furrowed together.  “How can you hear magic?”

“Shh,” the Ladybug admonished, pressing a black finger to her lips.  “Let him concentrate.”

His face scrunched in concentration, Don squeezed his eyes together tightly.  Ralph popped another crab cake in his mouth, chewing as quietly as possible.  Mason watched as his friend winced, biting his tongue as if to stave off the pain.

A few moments later, his eyes flew open.  “That way!” he shouted, pointing toward a tiny enclave cut into the white sand of Ladybug Island.  “Right there!  That way!”

With a maniacal grin, Miss Pickles threw back her head and cackled.  “To the medicine woman we shall go! Arggg!”  She punched the throttle and the boat sped towards the shore.  The parrot squawked and her golden hoops swung around her cheeks.

Don collapsed in a puddle of exhaustion, covering his face with his pale hands.  Ralph reached for a candy bar, his hands shaking as he stared at the island growing closer and closer.

Mason had no idea what to think.  His body tingling with excitement, all he could do was watch the white sand fly towards them.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a new whimsical post tomorrow and Wednesday, a new pet shop tale! Thursday we have a recipe for our four-legged friends and Friday, a new Dallas Jean.