Penelope the Pig Picks Pancakes E-Book

Kelly Johnson

• Herausgeber: Kelly Johnson
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 86

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Penelope the Pig Picks Pancakes follows the delightful adventure of Penelope, a cheerful little pig living in a cozy cottage at the edge of Maplewood Meadow. One morning, Penelope wakes with a craving for her favorite treatperfect pancakesbut discovers shes out of ingredients. Undeterred, she sets off on a joyful quest through the vibrant meadow, guided by sweet scents and friendly animals, to find the fluffiest, tastiest pancakes in all the land. Her journey leads her to the charming Breakfast Barn Café, where new friends and delicious discoveries await, promising a morning filled with warmth, friendship, and the magic of pancake dreams come true.

Leseprobe

IMPRESSUM

Penelope the Pig Picks Pancakes

Author: Kelly Johnson

© 2025 Kelly Johnson.

All rights reserved.

Author: Kelly Johnson

Contact: 903 W Woodland Ave, Kokomo, IN 46902

Email: [email protected]

Disclaimer

This eBook is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Pancake Dreams

Chapter 2: The Breakfast Barn

Chapter 3: Fluffy Flapjacks in the Forest

Chapter 4: Coconut Cakes by the Sea

Chapter 5: A Stack from the Sky

Chapter 6: Granny Pig’s Pantry

Chapter 7: A Taste of Home

Chapter 8: Pancake Picnic

Chapter 9: Pancakes for Everyone

Chapter 10: The Perfect Pick

Title: Penelope the Pig Picks Pancakes

Author: Kelly Johnson

Chapter 1: Pancake Dreams

Penelope the Pig lived in a delightfully cozy little cottage nestled at the very edge of Maplewood Meadow—a magical stretch of land where wildflowers tumbled in cheerful, colorful tangles that looked as if a painter had spilled their brightest paints across the fields. Bees hummed lazily from blossom to blossom, their tiny wings shimmering in the sunlight, while butterflies floated on the breeze like delicate petals caught in a gentle dance. The air was always sweet with the scent of clover and fresh grass, carrying whispers of far-off adventures and soft, sunny days.

Her cottage was a perfect little picture of charm and comfort, almost as if it had been plucked right from the pages of a favorite storybook. Its round thatched roof, woven with golden straw and crowned by a tiny weather vane shaped like a pancake, sat snugly atop walls painted in a soft cream color. Cheerful blue shutters framed each window, and the windows themselves gleamed like bright eyes, always welcoming. Around the front door, thick vines of blooming honeysuckle curled and twisted, their pink and white blossoms filling the air with a sweet, heady perfume. A tiny brass bell hung just above the doorframe, and whenever it jingled, it sounded like a sweet, gentle chime—a warm invitation to anyone passing by.

Step inside, and Penelope’s home was just as enchanting and inviting as the outside suggested. The moment you crossed the threshold, your senses were greeted by the cozy aroma of something freshly baked—warm cinnamon mingling with the subtle fragrance of wild daisies and soft lavender from the potted plants that lined the windowsill. These plants sat in a cheerful collection of mismatched clay pots, each with a story of its own—some chipped a little at the edges, others painted with tiny smiling faces or swirling patterns in blue and green.

In the corner, a soft patchwork quilt lay folded neatly at the foot of Penelope’s little bed. It was a treasured gift from Granny Pig, who had sewn it with care and love. Each square was a tiny work of art, embroidered with colorful thread depicting scenes and symbols close to Penelope’s heart—a bright red barn with a swinging gate, a glowing sun with a happy face, a stack of golden pancakes dripping with syrup, and even a tiny pink piglet holding a fork. The quilt was a warm hug in fabric form, wrapping Penelope in comfort on chilly nights and lazy afternoons.

Wooden shelves stretched along the walls, crowded with dozens of teacups, each one unique and charming. Some were delicately painted with soft pink roses that seemed to bloom with every glance, while others featured playful images—little pigs in aprons flipping pancakes, bluebirds frozen mid-song with wings spread wide, and whimsical patterns of hearts and stars. When a gentle breeze found its way through the open windows, the teacups clinked softly against each other, chiming like a tiny orchestra of bells. It was a quiet, magical sound, as if the house itself was sharing whispered secrets with the day.

There was always something cozy and lively happening inside Penelope’s cottage. The gentle clatter of wooden spoons stirred memories of baking, the cheerful bubbling of the kettle promised warm tea soon, and the soothing crackle of the fire in the hearth wrapped the room in a soft, glowing warmth. The walls were decorated with hand-drawn pictures and embroidered sayings, each one bursting with personality and love. Above the kitchen table, a wooden plaque read, “Home is where the pancakes are,” while near the rocking chair, a framed cloth banner urged, “Squeal with joy daily.” The floorboards beneath your feet creaked just a little when you walked, adding a comforting, rhythmic heartbeat to the cottage, as if the house was alive and breathing along with Penelope.

Of course, the occasional happy oink, soft snort, or contented sigh from Penelope herself filled the rooms, weaving her spirit into the very fabric of the home.

One bright and golden morning, as the meadow stretched wide beneath a clear, endless blue sky and the birds began to sing their sweetest, most joyful songs, a single sunbeam slipped quietly through the gingham curtains of Penelope’s bedroom. It stretched long and thin across the wooden floor, gliding gently over a fuzzy rug painted with sunflowers, past a sleepy rocking chair worn smooth by years of comforting creaks, and finally landed right on Penelope’s soft pink snout, tickling it as lightly as a playful friend’s fingertips. She twitched her nose and smiled, feeling the gentle warmth of the morning wrap around her like a tender promise. It was the perfect start to a new day full of hope, wonder, and the delicious promise of adventure.

She twitched her nose once… twice…

Sniff, sniff…

GRRRRRUMBLE!

Her round belly let out a dramatic growl, echoing so mightily that the teacups rattled on their shelf and a daisy in the windowsill shivered slightly in its pot.

Penelope blinked awake, her eyes round and shining with early-morning wonder. She yawned a big, piggy yawn and stretched all four legs at once beneath her quilt, letting out a sleepy squeal as she rolled over. The air smelled so fresh—like sunshine and clover, dew on grass, and just the tiniest hint of cinnamon drifting in from the meadow.

“I know just what I need,” she murmured to herself, her voice still thick with sleep but tinged with excitement. She licked her lips slowly, savoring the delicious dream taking shape in her mind. “Pancakes! Big, fluffy, golden pancakes stacked high, with warm maple syrup dripping down the sides... a pat of butter melting into every crevice... and a handful of juicy berries on top, maybe even some cinnamon sugar if I’m feeling fancy!”

Her tummy let out another rumble, as if to shout, Yes, yes! Pancakes now!

With a gleeful giggle, Penelope threw off her quilt and hopped out of bed, her tiny hooves tap-tapping across the warm wooden floor in a merry little rhythm. She passed her favorite chair, the one with the embroidered cushion that read “Pig Out and Be Proud,” and made her way to the kitchen.

Sunlight poured through the lace-curtained window above the sink, filling the kitchen with a warm, golden glow. The pots and pans hanging from the hooks along the wall caught the light and gleamed like treasure. A basket of fresh eggs sat on the counter beside a jar of homemade strawberry jam, and a tiny calendar on the wall had today circled in pink crayon—with a doodle of a smiling pancake beside it.

Penelope took a deep, satisfied breath.

“This,” she whispered to no one in particular, “is going to be the most pancakey-perfect morning ever.”

And with that, she tied on her favorite gingham apron, dusted her hooves off with determination, and reached for the biggest mixing bowl she owned. The adventure was about to begin.

She opened the cupboard with a hopeful heart and peeked inside, but her hopeful smile quickly faded. The shelves were bare. “Oh no,” she groaned, her nose wrinkling in disappointment. “No flour, no eggs, no milk... I can’t make pancakes!”

Penelope stood very still for a long moment, her snout drooping just a little as she listened to the soft quiet of her cozy little cottage. Her tummy gave a loud, sad grumble, echoing through the empty room like a little thunderclap. The cupboard stood bare, and the silence in the kitchen seemed to stretch out endlessly. For a second, a wave of disappointment washed over her—no pancakes here today, no warm, sweet stacks piled high, no buttery syrup dripping slowly down golden edges.

But then, as if a tiny spark had flickered to life deep inside her chest, Penelope’s eyes suddenly began to twinkle with a new light. A soft glow of determination warmed her gaze. Her snout lifted slowly, transforming from a frown to a bright, hopeful grin. The little spark grew into a steady flame, one that chased away the gloom and filled her with a fresh sense of purpose.

“Well,” Penelope said aloud, her voice cheerful and clear, “if I can’t make pancakes here, I’ll find the perfect pancakes out there!” She straightened her back and puffed out her chest just a little, feeling the thrill of possibility ripple through her fur. “Somewhere in Maplewood Meadow, I just know they’re waiting for me!” Her words sounded like a promise, not only to herself but to the wide world beyond her doorstep.

A cheerful oink escaped her lips as she carefully tied her favorite red scarf around her neck, the one that always made her feel brave and ready. The fabric smelled faintly of lavender and freshly laundered cotton, a comforting reminder of home. Then, with a deep breath that filled her lungs with the fresh morning air, Penelope stepped outside.

The world beyond her little cottage was alive and shimmering in the gentle light of dawn. The air smelled sweet and pure, like dew on wildflowers kissed by the sun, and the breeze carried the faintest whisper of faraway adventures. The tall grass sparkled with tiny droplets that caught the light like diamonds scattered across the meadow. Somewhere nearby, a chorus of birds sang songs of morning, their melodies weaving a bright and hopeful tune.

Penelope’s heart swelled with hope and excitement, even though her tummy was still grumbling softly for pancakes. She felt a thrilling flutter of butterflies in her belly—the kind that happen when you know you’re about to embark on something special.