the puppy is cute! I like pie! Guitars sound nice! And flags can be really hugantic!

P.S. I was just naming random stuff about the pictures.

Congratulations Everyone!!

awesome! you are like me, i always write long stories. once i begin, it never ends! have fun creating other stories!

Yay for mine!

Congratulations Everybody!

Will the results come soon?

Once upon a time there was a dog named Samuel. Of course, Samuel couldn't talk, for he was a dog. Samuel had already been in many pet shows, and was quite famous around the neighborhood. One day, tragedy struck. Heres how. Samuel's owners always kept a pie out the counter so they could have some from time to time. Like most dogs, Samuel was not allowed to eat any. Still, he was curious, so he got up onto the table. He sniffed it, drooled on it a little bit, and then took a bite. Before he knew it, he was kicked out of the house and lived on the streets. He wandered the streets and found a guitar, so he decided he would write a song and earn some money. He didn't do much before a guy who seemed quite famous picked him up a drove off with him. It was the president. Samuel from then on was seated next to the president and the flag for all of the president's speaking sessions. THE END

This one is about dog named Rosemary, after my Indian friend. Rosemary the Yellow Lab was born with two amazingly unique qualities. Number one, she was an excellent weaver, and she was also an especialy good baker, the owner of Wag Bakery. One day, the principal of the Wag City Middle School came into the bakery to buy a cranberry pie, Rosemary's bestseller. The normally cheerful principal face suddenly grew serious. "Rosemary," she said in a firm, this-isn't-a-game sorta tone, "my whole school is starting a project. Each student helps teach their parents learn one new skill they would like their parent to learn, and the parent helps teach the kid a new skill. I thought this project would be a good way to get kids and their parents together. Your 8th grade daughter, Madiylin, is requesting that she be allowed to teach you a skill." Rosemary, not being able to give her daughter the attetion she needed, thought this was a good idea. "I'd love to!" She replied confidently. "What is she going to teach me?" She replied, a smile growing on her face, "she asked if you'd be intrested in learning how to play the gutair." The gutair? Rosemary had no idea her daughter knew how to play the gutair. "That just shows how out of touch we are," she thought, sighing. But learning the gutair sounded like a good idea to her, so she said, "Thats perfect! I can teach her how to weave!" The principal frowned again, looking at her sraight in the eye. "Now Rosemary, you must remember that the main focal point of this is to spend time with your child, not to show of your skills. Can you promise to me you'll take time out of your everyday life to focus on Madylin?" Without the tinest bit of regret, Rosemary awnsered, grinning, "I promise." The principal smiled again and said, "Great. I don't want to hold you up from your work, and I have stuff to do. I'll tell Madi you excepted, O.K.?" "Sure," Rosemary answered, as her brain snapped back into reality. "Bye," She called out, waving. The principal waved back, and then she was gone. Later that day, when Rosemary had just arrived home, a sqeal of delight rose from the kitchen. "MO-OM, YOUR HOME!! ARE YOU EXCITED OR WHAT??!!" "Calm down, Sugar," she laughed, so happy to see her daughter this excited. Madi came running out of the kitchen, with her accoustic gutair, two granola bars, and her mother's weaving kit. "O.K. mom, lets get down to bizz!" She took one vicious bite of her bar, and she was all buisness. She taught her mother how to strum an E chord, and basic strumming patterns. Then her mother taught her how to weave. Madi thought it would be a good idea to weave a American flag for her classroom. Over the course of the week, both of them were growing in their knowledge of the other's skills. Then on thursday, the day before they were suposed to present their newly learned skills, somthing very troubling happened. The principal stopped in to buy some cranberry pie. "Hello, Rosemary." She said warmly, "how is your one-on-one time going? Have you mastered the art of the gutair? Is her flag almost done? It was so nice of her to weave the USA flag for our classroom-," Rosemary angrily interupted, saying, "Are you going to buy somthing? There's a line forming behind you." The principal looked shocked. "What's wrong, Rosemary?" Rosemary suddely felt a wave of emmbarrssment. "Sorry, Erin. I got in a fight, well... an ARGUEMENT, with my daughter. She was pestering me so that we could start praticing the weaving lessons and gutair lessons, but I still had some bills to pay, so I started getting a little, SNAPPY... with her. So uh... now we are kind of in a grudge." "Now Rosemary," said the principal, " Didn't I make you promise to take some time out of your everyday life to pay attetion to your time with your daughter?" Now Rosemary felt really gulity. "Yes..." she stammered. The principal went on, "so you are to go RIGHT back home, ask for forgivness for scolding her unnecessaraly, and finish those lessons! You know in only one day you are going to need to preform in front of all those middle schoolers!" Feeling like a child who had just been scolded by her mother, she timidly replied, "O.K." The principal's normal smiling face returned, and she said, now how 'bout a little cranberry pie?" Later that day, she knew she needed to talk to Madi. At first, Madi was in tears, but her mother helped her feel better, and she brightened up, and soon enough, she was weaving the last bits of her American flag. THE NEXT DAY................ Madi and Rosemary walk proudly onto the stage. First, Rosemary performed the song, "Dust in the Wind," and then Madi showed the class her hand woven USA flag, with alot of "Ahhs" from the crowd. And last, Rosemary said to the children, "I hoped you enjoyed this Child-Parent time as much as me and my daughter did. We didn't only learn two new, fun skills, we also learned that the point of this whole thing was to be able to enjoy each other's company, learn from our mistakes, and grow together. I hope you countinue to grow in your relationship." The kids clapped, and as they walked back to their seats, Rosemary suddenly felt somthing she'd never felt before. A love, a new love, for Madi. THE END ~Ashley12~

This is my story: People hung huge American flags, played gutiar and ate pie as a block party .(A block party is when people on a street have a party) for the fourth of July. Benny a skilled gutiarest played songs of joy. Ol' Miss fiona made the sweet pies and sold them for no cost. The kids took a small dog named Sky around for a walk, Sky saw the cherry pie and leaped at it, the kids grabed him by the neck as he was yanked back. Then people called for the everyone to come to a fire pit, and the kids said, 'Bye!' to the dog and hurried for the main part of the block party, a man that fought in the war made this small two streets that the people lived in, people bowed there heads in silence of this great man who made such a place! It was a tiny two streets, but to the people whom lived in it did not take it for granted. Then last Ol' Fiona, Ben, Gregory, and Julia had big bags with candy and threw the candy everywhere, behind them was a coulpe of teenagers held cool floats! What a grand time they had. THE END

People editor is out with family they will back in a week which means still a week!!!!!!!

Once upon a time a snow dog,named Bella, was playing the Spanish guitar while eating cherry blueberry pie. When her owners saw her,they put her in a talent show ans she won. She traveled the world. When she got to Washington D.C., the president saw her with her guitar and said,"Aaawww how cute. I am going to keep you and name you Snowy."Snowy spent the rest of her life playing the guitar under the American flag at the White House.

THE END

you want me to write a story

When will the winers come out

When will we get the results? C:

Once, in the United States, it was near Christmas, the snow was everywhere, like a big blanket, it covered the world.
And in a little town 362 miles away from New York, was where a poor family was decorating a Christmas tree with what they could afford, but they tried to make the best of it, since they had a little son, and it was his first Christmas, the Christmas tree had all sorts of things on it, small balls, colourful ribbons, bits of sparkling rapping paper, and some dried up flowers, because really they couldn't afford much more. The dog was barking, it was a snow white, dog you could easy loose track of in the snow. Tonight, the mother would make wonderful cherry pie for dinner, to celebrate Christmas at their best, they would have a little salad and small turkey half, which their neighbors had kindly lent them the night before! As for the cherry pie was their real treat, it was rich, with a lot of cherries, and all of them a nice marroon colour, waiting for you, none of them had the same shape, having baked in the oven, an hour ago, they still held their juice in. The father got out his guitar, and started singing a song he had written, way back when he first met his wife, he had madly fallen in love, and made it for her, it was like a tradition to sing it every Christmas, since it was the first time he ever sung it to her, was Christmas, so he sang it again, and then bit into his juicy and delicious cherry pie

There was a guitar in a players hand. The player got $30.00, then he got his break.
He ate some of his yummy cherry pie, which was homemade.
Then the guitar player,( Max) went back home. And a few crumbs of the pie was making a mark to his house. Then suddenly, the trail dissapeared, and what could have made it, but a white little dog. Max had no idea!
A the white dog camouflaged in the snow into Max's house.
The dog thought, " what a cozy place," since the dog lived in woods he never knew anything about the city. All he thought was that the brick was wood. There was a ton of wood where he came from. " maybe this is a wood box!"
Max out down his guitar and fell asleep. Then the dog jumped on the bed, curled up, then went to sleep. The next morning Max headed out. Max went in the car, buckled up his seatbelt. Lucky for the dog, the car seats were white.
So he camouflaged. The dog had no idea where they were going.
After a while they reached their final destination. The flag, where there were so many people. When Max got out he heard barking in the car.
He opened up and saw the dog.
" hey little fella, " he said. " I think I will call you mystery. I never knew you followed me you little detective!"
And Max and Mystery went up to the flag.
Max said," hi everyone I wrote a song about freedom! And here it is!"
Then Max stared to play. When the song was over he talked about Mystery. He said," I will give this dog freedom!"
Then Max got his award, and everyone ate his yummy pie!
And It all ended with a wag from Mystery and a little happy bark!

The End

Editor, hasn't it been 2 weeks yet?

Once upon a time upon a time there was a dog named Snowy. Snowy lived in America. Snowy's owner was rich. He had a perfect life. One day they were out on a walk towards their flag when a cat appeared and stopped right in front of them blocking the way. The owner said, "You see that mansion right there? It's my house! I own twenty acres of land and I order you out of my property!" But the lady was not moving. She would not. Especially since he was being very rude. But, Snowy did not mind. He knew that the lady should not move since his owner was arrogant. (The owner is Michael.) So then finally Michael and Snowy went home. To sooth his mind, Michael ate pie without giving Snowy. So, in return, he broke Michael's guitar to pieces. "HEY!" Michael hit Snowy. Then he picked Snowy up and threw him in a cage. He put the cage in the car and threw him out. The cat's owner, Synthia, picked Snowy up and took him to take care of. She gave her two pets pie and played a guitar song to cheer up Snowy. They all enjoyed life together! THE END :)

nice stories

How long has it been?

Once, in a hidden city named Dogga, was a puppy named Dogga. Every time someone said Dogga, when they mean the city, Dogga would come, and the person would kick him away. Dogga was upset.
Once when she was walking, she found some pie and she ate it. She could talk. He ran and ran!
Until, she found some people walking.'
" this is my chance!" she thought.
Thens he realized, she understood what the people were saying!
They said, " the guitar Is the most rarest! It hasnt a name because it has never been seen or found!"
Dogga thought, " if I find the guitar what will happen? I wonder!"
Then, Dogga heard it," the person will be the president."
The other guy said," what if it's an animal?"
" Imposible!"
And they both left.
Of course all of this was heard by Dogga!
Dogga ran in the forest to find that guitar. She wondered what a president was, and this was her chance to know!
Dogga dug everywhere. She dug here and there. Everywhere! She thought the guitar was buried.
A week later after a bunch of wholes, Dogga was hungry. She wanted to eat, she wanted to eat that yummy yummy pie!
And he found one! Cherry! He ate it! And he knew everything. Even what a president was!
Dogga jumped up! I wanna be a president! Make laws and everything!
But when Dogga fell, snow fell on him, and she remembered all the time he had to beg for food.
When she got up he said to heeself," no more when I get that guitar I will be famous and rich, oh and president!"
So she set off, but of course she brought the pie.
Now, after a month, she had no pie left! And it was spring! Lucky for her there were apples! And she at them. And when the snow melted it was water. So Dogga had food and water. Now all she needed was shelter for a day. And she found a cave! She slept and was back on the road.
And after a day or two. She fell on the spot of the guitar. It was a hole! And everyone rushed so fast and photographers everywhere.
And Dogga was president, had a warm dinner, and lived happily ever after!

Awesome stories peeps! I am about to get youngzine !!!!!!!

RESULTS COME ON

Memories raced through Frost's mind. Memories of his old home, of Lily, the little girl that had loved him, of the little girl's parents, and then of the girl's uncle. Lily's uncle had come up for Independence day and he was a selfish, impatient man, and had NO tolerance for dogs. Uncle "Filbert", as the humans called him, had thrown Frost out of the house just two days ago. He had falsely accused the pure white dog of taking a bite of the cherry pie when the truth was that Lily had done it. I mean, how was Frost supposed to reach the kitchen counter? Lily stood up for Frost, and told her uncle that she had done it, but uncle Filbert didn't believe her, and with that, Frost was kicked out of the house. "I wish I could see Lily again," thought Frost. He wandered down the street, listening to the street-side musicians strumming their instruments, mostly guitars. Soon he came to a street-corner. He glanced about and no cars were coming, so he began to cross the street, oblivious to the red light flashing in his face. VROOOM! A car was coming at Frost, full-speed ahead! The little white dog stood frozen with fear. The car's driver didn't see Frost and flew straight over him. Luckily neither of the wheels hit him, but it did hurt quite a bit. Frost stood there for a minute, unable to move. Then he heard a familiar voice calling his name. "Frost! Oh no! Frost, are you OK?" Yelled the voice Frost immediately recognized as Lily. He struggled to sit up, and Lily reached him in a few seconds. Her father was with her, and the two humans gently picked him up and walked him back to their house. "Did you find Frost?" Called the hopeful voice of Heather, Lily's mom. "We did, but we think he got ran over. He was in the middle of the road when we found him, and he's pretty banged up." Spoke Gerik, Lily's dad. Heather came into the entryway, where Lily and Gerik were. "Here, let me get some bandages,"she said. Heather rushed out of the room, and appeared again in about three minutes. She wrapped up Frost's wounds in the white strips and then they laid him in his bed, which was in Lily's room. Lily sat with Frost all that day, and told him about everything that she could tell him about. She told the little dog that her uncle had left, and that her father and her had gone out to look for him every day after that. Frost fell asleep to Lily talking to him and he woke up to the little girl still sitting beside him. From that day on, Frost never left Lily's side.

One day there was a baker, the baker was lazy and didn't actually "bake". he just bought store bought bread and claimed he made it. Then there was an orphan named ben, he played a small guitar at the bakery to earn money for food. Then there was his dog. He was a rare breed of dog. the baker wanted to take the dog and sell him for 5 thousand dollars to a breeder. When the boy wasn't looking he took the dog. The dog was the boy's only friend. Then there was a girl who's name was zoe.her father was running for president, her father did not have much time to be with her, so she snuck out seeking to find a true friend since all her friends were only there for her because her father was running for president. Then she saw little ben crying.
"What happened?" asked Zoe
"My dog, my only friend is gone, and I don't know what to do!" cried ben
"I'll become your friend and help you find him," said zoe
"Thanks," he said wiping his tears away
"where were you when your dog disappeared?" asked Zoe
"I was at the bakery playing my guitar for money" en said
"Why do you need money don't your parents give you money?"Zoe asked
"Because my parents are dead!" Ben cried
Zoe was shocked, she was determined to find the puppy now.
"lets check the bakery,"Zoe said
"good idea," Ben said
They checked the bakery and saw a truck with 2 men loading the dog with a bunch of other dogs.
then Zoe stepped out of the shadows
"I'm going to arrest you for taking his dog!"
"it wasn't us!"said the first man
"it was the baker!" said the second man
And so they took the dog back sued the baker and found out that he used store bought pies. And as for Ben the orphan, he was adopted by the new president of the united states who was also known as Zoe's father.

the end

I was playing my new guitar on the sidewalk, my parents gave me on new years eve, when I spotted dog footprints. I decided to go on an adventure so i followed the footprints into a jungle. Now it snowing so I decided to go back home when suddenly I saw a cute white puppy who was limping. I couldn't leave the puppy alone in this weather so I took it home. The next day the weather was nice so I took the dog to the vet. She said that the leg would get better in a few days but the dog need rest. I made the dog a soft bed and it went to sleep . I forgot today was Independence Day so I bought some pie for the dog and me. I decided to call the dog Muffin. As soon as Muffin woke up I gave it the pie. He loved it he ate the whole pie!!!
I asked a few people if the dog was theirs but they said no. I decided to keep the dog. My parents were fine with this. Muffin and I were very good friends and we lived happily ever after.

Nice Stories

Alot of long stories.

People with long storys should write a book.

A dog went to the doglympics. There was some other dogs there too. A few from China, Japan, USA, and other places. The sport was guitaring. He looked around at the other guitars. The all were so fancy. Except his. But, he didn't care. It was starting. Each dog took turns of course. It was his turn and he saw of course China was first. He wasn't surprise. He played the entertainer. The judges loved it. He looked at the board. Waiting..... YES!!!!!!!! He WON!!!!!!!!!!!! Somebody threw some a pie so he ate it. Then, it was the medals time. The national anthem played. The American flag rose first. Shall he win again or not? That is the gold medals question.

Muskrat Stew

I wake up inside my cozy cardboard shack to find that a drift of snow has settled onto my blanket, and icy droplets are dripping onto my head from the damp ceiling. Another day, another depressing turn of events.

As if we weren't chilled enough, I think bitterly to myself, by this entire devastating year of 1930. I stand up, shaking myself off, and rub my chapped hands together, blow on them, anything to keep them from becoming blue.

It's mid-morning. Too late for breakfast at the mission. I curse inwardly, then think to myself: oh well, time to start work. At least, I like to call it work. I grab my guitar, which I know will be sadly out of tune because of the cold, and poke my head out of the shack. My neighbor’s roof has blown off, and shacks in every direction are sagging under the weight of the snow: just another average December morning in Hooverville, the cardboard jungle that was named in honor of our president.

I walk outside, where the sun is gleaming tauntingly: bright enough to illuminate the ugliness of the world, but not bright enough to give warmth. Trying to ignore my stomach’s cantankerous growling, I pick my way out of the jungle, crunching over the crisp snow, avoiding eye contact with eager children who want me to play guitar for them. Business first, I think, or I’ll have no meal before nighttime.

Soon I’ve passed the last cardboard shack and have crossed into the town, the real town where all the people live who haven’t lost their jobs and savings. I still have a mile to go before I get to the rich part of town. That’s where I conduct my business.

In half an hour I’m stumbling into the neighborhood, with its tall, elegant houses looming up around me on each side, and I know I’ll have some luck today. The place is overflowing with Christmas spirit, and chances are that someone will have food or money to give to the shivering, lonely hobo; someone will want to achieve their good deed for the week. I salivate, thinking of drumsticks and cranberry sauce and plum pudding; I am too beaten down and poor for any semblance of pride to remain in me.

I sit on the sidewalk in front of the grandest mansion, place my hat on the ground in front of me and my guitar into my lap, and begin to play. The steel strings feel like bands of ice cutting into my fingers, but I grit my teeth and start to plunk out “God Rest You Merry Gentlemen”. To distract myself from the cold, I look at all the houses, admiring the architecture and counting windows. A flag waves high above the white house across the street from me. Welcome to America, land of the free, I think. I’ll freeze to death, but at least I’ll be a free man. What a comfort.

I’m still playing mechanically and staring angrily at the flag and playing when the door of the white house opens, revealing a maid in a trim black uniform. “Sir,” she calls, and begins to cross the street. I’m not a sir, but I look at her anyway. She’s carrying a pie, and instantly I’m held in its juicy thrall, unable to drop my gaze. “Sir, the master of this house said to give you this, and wish you a Merry Christmas,” she says, holding it out and averting her eyes. I think of how I must look to her: a tall, gaunt, greasy-haired man in his late twenties, wearing a ragged jacket and jeans, and boots with one of his toes flapping out. A spectacle, as my old band-mates said often about my wild appearance. Those were the good old days, playing the blues to happy crowds, staying in cheap hotels, not worrying about tomorrow, not having to eat muskrats. The band had broken up because nobody had the money to pay us for our performances, and I was left alone with no savings, no house, no family, no nothing. That had been a year ago.

I place my guitar carefully by my side and reach out automatically to take the pie. Its warm fragrance is intoxicating, especially since I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. “Thank you, thank you very much, ma’am. Send my regards to the master of the house,” I say, looking at the food and not the maid. She smiles and bends down to drop a few coins into my hat. “Don’t eat the pie all at once,” she says, and then runs back across the street before I have time to say anything. Wow, I think. I’ve hardly been at work for fifteen minutes, and already I’ve hit the jackpot! I grin – though it cracks my face – and begin to play “Joy to the World” while I wait for the pie to cool.

As the day progresses, I develop a pattern: play if anyone comes toward me on the street, and if not, eat a few tiny bites of the pie. I’ll save half of it for tonight, when everyone at the cardboard jungle shares their food around the bonfire. It’s hard not to gobble it up right away, but if this hard year has taught me anything, it’s discipline.

By dusk I’ve collected thirty cents from rich, sympathetic passerby, enough to buy a few loaves of bread with a dime left over to add to my savings. Once I save sixty or seventy cents I aim to buy myself a decent pair of shoes. Guitar in one hand and the remaining half of the pie in the other, I start for the jungle, hoping that someone might have gotten enough game to make muskrat stew, and that if so, I won’t be too late for it. Muskrats aren’t ideal food, but they’re better than nothing. I walk faster, ignoring my stinging feet and frozen limbs.

Right at the edge of Hooverville, I stumble against something in the dark. Something soft. I nearly lose my balance and crash into a cardboard shack, but manage to right myself just in time. An expletive flies out of my mouth, to be met by a quiet whimper. A whine. It’s a dog! I see her fur glimmering now as she looks appealingly up at me from her bed in the snow, as if to say, “You kicked me, but I don’t mind. I smell the food, and if you give me some, I’ll be yours forever.” Her eyes are huge and sad.

“Go! Scat! Shoo, dog!”

She just sits there, looking at me. Those eyes… they remind me of the dog I once had when I was a child. Maizie. The dog who was my companion throughout the happiest years of my life, when I was carefree, well-cared for, and full of bright expectations for the future. Bright expectations? I think to myself. What a joke. I picture a fake-smiling reporter saying, “Welcome to America, the land of opportunity: Hoovervilles around every corner!”

I stare down at the dog. The shack nearby is deserted, and chances are the inhabitants left their pet behind, not being able to feed her. She’s a hobo, just like me.

Another whimper. “I said go away, dog,” I mutter, and walk away quickly towards my shack. When I reach it, I breathe a sigh of relief. I had narrowly avoided having another mouth to feed. I place my guitar inside and then turn around, meaning to head over to the bonfire that’s glowing in the distance.

The dog had followed me. She whines and puts a paw on my leg, and I groan, knowing that I’m beaten. “All right, all right. You can stay with me,” I grumble, and then start walking rapidly toward the fire, knowing she’ll be right behind me.

Soon I come into the warmth and light of fire, a hobo’s best friend on these winter nights. Many other homeless people are gathered around it, drinking stew out of old rusty cans or softly singing Christmas carols. "Hey there, brother," someone calls out to me. My buddy Eddie says, “You've found gold today, eh, Ken? A pie and a dog, no less!” “Aye. Take one bite – of the pie, I mean, not the dog – and pass it, everyone. Merry Christmas,” I say. The skinny faces turn toward me eagerly, hungry in anticipation for this rare treat. In a matter of minutes the pie is gone, leaving only a metal tin that we’ll use to cook with. In return, someone pushes a can of hot stew into my hand.

I settle down next to Eddie, relishing the blistering heat of the flames, and soon the dog is lying next to me and nuzzling her head against my side. “She’s a bonny one,” says Eddie, rubbing her ears. “What’s her name?”

It only takes me a second to decide. “Her name is Maizie.”

“Maizie. A good name,” he says, looking keenly into my face, and then down at the dog. “Good lass, Maizie.”

I pat Maizie and gaze around the fire, taking in all the faces, young and old, all impoverished and weary, and wonder when it will all end, this worldwide depression. As I’m thinking this, a middle-aged man, a tenor, begins to sing “Silent Night”, and gradually everyone joins in. “All is calm, all is bright,” we sing, and the stars listen, wanting to believe it. “Sleep in heavenly peace…”

Tomorrow some of us will leave for different jungles, different cities. We’ll try to find work, and most of us will fail yet again, and some of us will become overcome with despair. Yet at least for this moment, we’re not broken men: we’re members of a great universe, lifted from our bonds by the music that all of us share. For this moment, we are a family.

I smile drowsily and sip my stew, listening to the music and rubbing Maizie’s ears.

You would have to be a hobo to know it, but muskrat stew sometimes tastes surprisingly good.