Granny Agnes, a woman whose age was only exceeded by her enthusiasm for gossip, was enjoying a rare moment of peace. Sunlight streamed through her window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air – a perfect backdrop for her afternoon nap. Suddenly, the shrill ring of her ancient rotary phone shattered the silence. She jolted awake, muttering, “Blast! Who could be calling at this hour?”
She grabbed the receiver, her voice a crackly whisper, “Agnes speaking.”
A booming voice answered, “Agnes, this is Bartholomew! Your prize-winning pumpkin, the one you entered in the county fair… it’s… it’s gone missing!”
Agnes gasped dramatically. “Gone missing?! Bartholomew, that pumpkin was my pride and joy! Its girth, its vibrant orange hue… it was practically a work of art!”
“I know, Agnes,” Bartholomew replied, his voice thick with concern. “But it’s vanished! We’ve searched high and low. There’s only a small note left where it was… it says, ‘Picked for a pie. Love, the Gophers.'”
Agnes paused, a thoughtful expression on her wrinkled face. She then let out a hearty chuckle. “Those cheeky gophers! They always did have a sweet tooth. Well, Bartholomew, I suppose it’s a compliment, really. My pumpkin was clearly too delicious to resist!”
She paused, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Tell you what, Bartholomew. Next year, I’ll enter a pumpkin with extra thorns. That’ll teach ’em!” She hung up, the sound of her laughter echoing in the quiet afternoon. The only thing missing from her victory was, of course, the prize-winning pumpkin pie. She’d have to bake another.
