Showing posts with label fable. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fable. Show all posts

Sunday, March 15, 2026

The Visitor (fable, mystery) by Leanne Dyck

Why are labels important?


photo by ldyck

The Visitor

Once upon a time, a person was found on our island. They had been wandering aimlessly. Were they lost? We tried to converse with them. All they spoke was gibberish. They grew more and more aggressive. We feared they wanted to harm us. 

Thankfully, a friend was visiting our island. This friend was an avid traveller and knew many languages. They tried to converse with the stranger in language after language. Until...

Until a twinkle came to the stranger's eyes and their lips formed a broad smile. We learned that our new friend had become separated from their travel mates. In their desperation to reunite, they had gotten off on the wrong island—our island. They grew more and more frustrated with our inability to understand. Until... until our old friend had broken through their isolation. 

Thanks to our old friend's linguistic knowledge and perseverance, our new friend was reunited with their travel mates and found their way home.

written on October 29, 2025

On this blog in March


New content is added to this blog
 every Sunday 
at approximately 4:40pm (Pacific Time). 



Sunday, March 22
Don't Listen (fable)

Sunday, March 29

Beware the Island Storyteller (short story)

On Mayne Island...




Wish You Were Here
an evening with Suzie LeBlanc
and friends

Friday, March 20
7pm
Agricultural Society Hall

Sunday, July 30, 2023

Dog or Wolf (fable) by Leanne Dyck

When I learnt that dogs and wolves share 98.8 percent of the same DNA, I thought really and wow and then I wrote this bedtime story for my dog... 

photo by ldyck



These people had a pup and thought he was a dog. They tried to teach him to "come", "sit" and "stay".

The pup knew he was a wolf. He longed to run wild and be free. He howled at the moon.

The people told him to be quiet and brought him inside. They put him in a kennel so he couldn't see the moon.

One day, when the pup was on a walk, he slipped out of his collar. He ran fast; he ran far. He felt the wind in his fur. He felt the sun on his back. He smelled the wild smells. He heard the wild sounds. He ran and ran until he met a pack of wolves. 

They showed him their razor-sharp teeth. "Go home, dog!"

 "I'm not a dog. I'm a wolf," the pup told them. "I have no tags, no collar. I have no master; I will serve the pack."

The alpha wolf touched his nose to the pup's nose and brought him into the pack.   

That evening, the pup married his voice with the other wolves as they paid homage to the moon. The pup dug a bed in the soft soil and slept under the stars, surrounded by his pack. 

When thirst overtook him, the pup remembered how the humans would fill his bowl with fresh water from a jug they kept in the fridge. 

"When do we drink?" he asked and the alpha wolf taught him how to crouch beside the river and drink. 

The pup remembered his bowl of kibble. 

"When do we eat?" 

"Today is not a feasting day." He was told. All day he went hungry and daydreamed about his bowl of kibble. 

That night the moon slipped behind a cloud and didn't show itself to the pack. Instead, the skies opened. The pup huddled with the pack as freezing rain dampened their coats. Shivering, he longed for his warm bed in his house miles away.  

Early the following morning, the pup asked, "Can we eat today?"

"We are skilled hunters," the alpha wolf assured him. "Today we will feast."

They hunted for moose, deer, rabbit, beaver, mice. They found n--.

Far off in the distance, the alpha wolf spotted something and the pack howled with delight. 

The pup strained his eyes and finally saw... Something white on the other side of a fence.  

Quickly, the pack took turns digging a tunnel. Silently, they crawled through the tunnel and emerged on the other side of the fence. Working together, they surrounded the flock and drew the circle tighter and tighter and--.

A loud blast cut the air, and something flew right past the pup's ear. 

"Gun! Run!" The pack barked.

The pup ran fast and he ran far. He didn't stop running until he was once again with his humans.  And he learned how to "come". And he learned how to "sit." And he learned how to "stay."


photo by ldyck

And...

Wise islanders, tourists keep their eyes open while walking the streets of Mayne Island. That's what I did and I found...

photo by ldyck


Jason, one of my Mayne Island neighbours, is a talented carver. My island home--Mayne Island--abounds with his creations, and he has more to share. In fact, I think there isn't anything he can't create. Of particular interest to dog owners is his ability to capture a likeness of your canine friend for all time in wood. His work can also be found in Vancouver and elsewhere around the world. 

"Hey, Jason," I said, "I'm publishing a dog-related short story on my blog. Your dog is so cute, so full of life. Can I take a picture and put it on my blog?"

"Please do," he said.

And so I did.

And...

photo by ldyck

Dragonfly is my dog Abby's favourite shop on Mayne Island. Usually, when we're out for a walk she insists that we stop and shop. Thankfully, Dragonfly has a lot of cool treats for humans too.

photo by ldyck


August on this blog...

Thursday, November 15, 2012

A Stone Heart (short story) by Leanne Dyck



An original folk tale about beauty and love.


A Stone Heart


The richest man in the entire world had two possessions he valued above all others. A dome-roofed gilded cage contained a gold harp. A woman with a shapely figure, flowing hair, and dress was carved on the front of the harp. The harp produced such glorious music that grown men wept, and the damned dreamed of heaven. She sat on the fireplace mantle and sang through an open window. Her song was of longing for the world she was unable to explore. And gradually, day after day, the want of sun-lite, green meadows turned her heart to stone.

Across from her on a dark brown mahogany sideboard, angled into the room, stood a tin soldier. He wore a uniform of war, and in his hands he held a gun. They said that if you gazed upon him with a weak mind or heart, a bullet would travel from his gun and pierce your skin. That single shot would kill you instantly. From his vantage point the soldier caught sight of the harp and never let her go. Some believed his heart was made of tin. And such may have been the case, but nevertheless it did beat; he did feel—and though the object of his desire was all he saw, he feared he would never possess her. In fact, he feared she would never even acknowledge his existence. He judged her by her song and by her appearance and believed she was beautiful. But it was only an illusion. The beauty he saw was in his heart.