Author’s Note: When I transferred this story, I realized I left out a small but important section. This is the full version — complete with a glimpse into Daisy’s thoughts that make her first backyard adventure even richer.

Episode 1 – “This pup will do”

Welcome to my first series, I hope you will come back each Sunday to read the latest installment .

A curious Aussie pup tumbles into a backyard alive with hummingbirds, bees, and a brooding Ash Tree — and unknowingly stirs the first whispers of a bigger plan.

The puppy barreled through as the backyard slider opened, eager to explore her new home. It was spring, and it had done nothing but rain since she arrived. She didn’t like rain—it landed on her back like someone she couldn’t see tapping her. She liked knowing where everyone was; it’s how Aussie dogs are built.

At twelve weeks, she could finally check out what smelled so sweet along the back fence. She ran full steam, tripped over her own paws into a roll, popped up, and lowered her nose to the flower. Up close, the cupped bloom held a small pool of water, yet the sweet scent still wafted up. She took a big sniff. She was about to taste it when a hummingbird’s wing whacked her on the nose in rapid fire.

“Ouch—that hurt!” She rubbed her nose on her front leg to ease the sting. As she raised her head, an unlikely little gathering lingered at the bloom’s small pool. The Bumble Bee was first to speak. “Hey, watch it—we’re drinkin’ here! You nearly knocked all the water out.”

The pup, surprised by the admonishment, quickly explained, “It smelled so sweet—I just wanted a taste.” Butterfly let out a long, drawn humph mid-flutter—she’d just missed sticking to the dog’s wet nose.

Hummingbird hovered over the bloom. “You eat everything you sniff?”

From behind the dog, in a corner near the door, came a haughty voice with a low, almost purring sound. “You can come try a taste of my flowers.” Then came mocking laughter, the Trumpet Tree joining in—a branch swooping to high-five the Oleander, their flowers bouncing in mirth. Their laughter hitched; their stems drew tight. The plants seemed to sink a little, then shook until their blooms nearly fell off. The laughter died, and silence filled the space. Something deep shifted under her paws, then stilled.

Her head filled with a deep, smooth baritone, tinged with disgust. Humans have no idea what evil poison they plant in their yards.

A chill ran her spine. She turned her small head to the left and looked up—and up—and up some more, backing to take in the large, old Ash Tree. How could she have missed this tree? Aussie dogs don’t miss something this big. But she had been staring at that flower for days through rain-streaked windows, her curiosity narrowing her vision. Not the first time her tunnel vision got the better of her. She was good at setting goals, but too focused on the chase she often missed the obvious—like her sister slipping in from the side and batting the ball away before she ever saw it coming.

The puppy had heard trees before; their way of speaking—thought to thought—was familiar enough. Still, it could be startling the first few times, especially if you were tiny and didn’t yet know that trees really didn’t like being peed on. She still didn’t understand why that maple had to yell at her; she was only six weeks old. It’s hard to find the right spot.

But those maples were nothing like this tree, nor did they speak in such deep tones you felt them reverberate in your chest. The Ash continued, “Those two are shallow, poisonous, and as superficial as they come. If the people didn’t like their flowers so much, I would have choked them out years ago. They encourage—and help—the Squirrel Syndicate.”

All the action had made the puppy sleepy. She lay down in the Ash’s shade, still listening, eyes half-open. She watched Hummingbird dip her beak into the water and hover. The light caught her feathers—brown, then turquoise, then a quick flash of pink. Pretty. Her fur didn’t do that—just black, tan, and white. Butterfly drifted in and settled on the petal’s rim, dipping and rubbing her forelegs together in the water like her humans washing their hands. Bumble Bee eased a little deeper toward the center, careful, one eye on the waterline. They moved around one another in an easy rhythm; the drowsy pup observed them, learning their pattern.

They talked: weather, winter hideouts, where the good stuff was lately. Eventually, their eyes drifted to the puppy. The Butterfly spoke first, watching the pup wiggle on her back in the grass to scratch an itch. “Well—does anyone know how long this fur-ball’ll be here?”

“Our nest is near the window,” the Hummingbird answered quickly. “I think she’s a permanent resident.”

They all sighed—a mixed feeling: partly relief and partly the knowledge of the task to come.

They all glanced at the Ash Tree. The puppy was falling asleep to the melody of their chatter. The Tree noticed and felt hopeful. Perhaps this was a good one.

The Bumble Bee spoke up first, eyes still on the dog. “Well, I gotta get back. The Queen’s on the warpath. Production’s rampin’ up and, accordin’ to her, we ain’t gettin’ back fast enough to keep up. Maybe with this news she’ll give me a break. Catch all of youse tomorrow.” Before leaving, he gave Hummingbird and Butterfly a look, then a nod, and rumbled off.

The Hummingbird had moved to the fence above and nodded. She looked at the Butterfly, who nodded back, and then both focused on the Ash Tree.

“I have a nest to build and a family to raise, Tree,” Hummingbird said. “Butterfly takes forever to get a sentence out—the pup’s bound to lose interest before she finishes.”

Butterfly’s wings started fluttering fast. “Why, I do declare, in all my years, if that isn’t one of the most uuuggg-ly, arr-oh-gant sentiments to be said to my face. Why—”

“Exactly.” Hummingbird said, already turning away. “Tree, it’s on you, you have to train this one and fast. The Squirrel Syndicate has already gained the walnut tree and who knows what else they have planned, especially with the Poison Sisters helping them.”

Butterfly, still shaking her foreleg at Hummingbird, did stop long enough to nod in agreement. She fluttered into a large, lazy circle, landed for a second on Hummingbird’s head, then lifted off and fluttered away. Hummingbird lunged after her, but Tree spoke. “We will need to see what she is made of. The Syndicate is meaner these days.”

Hummingbird grew quiet, remembering the egg she lost last year to the squirrels. Most of her family moved away, but she was determined to take back the space that was once theirs.

The puppy came alert after a short snooze—popped up in one jump, full energy and curiosity restored. She was off again, sniffing the air, putting her nose in flowers. Before the pup could damage another new shoot from a bulb, the Tree asked the pup’s name.

Immediately, Tree was flooded with images of broken toys, chewed baskets and shoes, and a slew of doodads in pieces.

“Enough,” Tree said, overwhelmed but amused—the deep voice making her shrink back. In a small puppy voice Tree heard, I’m just curious and want to know what’s inside things or what things taste like—sorta like with the flower. I’m being called Daisy, but lately it’s more Daisy the Destroyer. A small, confused “hrmph” followed the declaration. Tree sensed the pup’s mixed emotions about whether the title was a badge of honor or a bad thing.

Tree’s voice eased; his leaves rustled, a low laugh. “For you, it’s a proud designation. Wear it well, little one.”

The pup’s energy soared. She thanked the Tree.

She was being called to come in—but first, a pit stop by the Oleander: a few kicks of dirt to top it off, and then inside with that satisfied Aussie-dog smile. Oleander sputtered, speechless at the indignity and at the acidic smell on her bark.

Tree’s branches and leaves shook again at the pup’s antics. He and the Hummingbird both thought the same thing: “This pup will do.”

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To Be Continued…
Daisy’s just beginning to discover the secrets of the backyard — and the Ash Tree isn’t done with her yet. Stay tuned for the next chapter in Daisy the Destroyer’s adventures, where the Squirrel Syndicate makes their move.