Bloop and the Moon-Mud Boot

“Squish!” went the mud, and Bloop’s boot stayed exactly where it was.

Bloop looked down at his left foot. One blue boot was on it. The other was buried in a patch of moon-mud beside the smooth trail.

“Oh, boot,” he said. “You’re supposed to walk with me.”

His friend Fiz leaned over. Fiz was round as a berry, with two short antennae that bent whenever he giggled. “Maybe it likes the moon-mud,” he said. “It looks cozy.”

Bloop tugged the boot’s heel loop. The mud made a pleased-sounding glorp. The boot did not move.

Bloop and Fiz were heading home from the moon’s hilltop garden. Their basket held three moon-pears and one very lumpy turnip. The trail was firm and smooth. Beside it, the mud was soft enough to bubble when a moonbug scooted across.

“I need that boot,” Bloop said. “Walking home with one boot and one bare foot will feel silly.”

“You could hop,” Fiz offered.

Bloop tried one hop. His bare foot landed on a pebble. “Silly and pebble-y,” he said.

Fiz set the basket on the trail. “Let’s pull together!”

They each grabbed the heel loop. “One, two, three!” they called, and tugged.

The boot sank a little deeper. A bubble popped with a tiny plip.

“I think the mud is keeping it,” Fiz said.

“I think it’s keeping it too well,” Bloop replied.

He spotted a curved strip of bark beside a moon-tree. It was long and smooth, with one end curled up like a spoon. Bloop had passed it on the way to the garden, but now he studied it again.

“Maybe we’re trying to get the boot out the wrong way,” he said.

Fiz tilted his head. “What other way is there?”

Bloop looked at the boot, the mud, and the bark. Then he pointed to the space beneath the boot’s edge.

“Let’s slide something underneath.”

Bloop reached for the bark, but it lay just beyond the mud’s edge. He nudged it with his good boot. It rolled away and bumped gently against a moon-tree root.

“The bark is trying to go home without us,” Fiz said.

“Then we’ll ask it to stay.” Bloop fetched the bark and laid it on the firm trail.

Fiz pointed at the boot. “We should push the bark under from this side.”

“Good idea. Slowly, though.”

Bloop knelt on the trail while Fiz held the bark flat. Bloop eased its curled end toward the boot. It touched the mud and slid in a little, then stopped.

“Push!” said Fiz.

Bloop pushed. The bark sprang up, flicking a dot of mud onto his nose.

Fiz laughed. Bloop tried too, but the dot tickled. “Ahem. The mud is giving me freckles.”

They tried again, more gently. Bloop lowered the bark until its tip slid beneath the boot’s side. Fiz held the far end steady.

“Little by little,” Bloop said.

The bark crept under the boot. The mud made quiet sucking sounds, but the boot stayed put. Bloop’s arms began to tire.

“Maybe it’s too deep,” he said.

Fiz studied the boot. “The bark is under one edge. If we lift that edge just a little, the mud might let go.”

Bloop nodded. “Together?”

“Together.”

They gripped the ends of the bark. “One… two… up!” Bloop counted.

The bark bent like a springy branch, and the boot’s edge rose. Mud clung and stretched in a wobbly ring.

“Keep it steady!” Fiz called.

Bloop held on as Fiz lifted his end a little higher. The boot slipped free with a bubbly ploop and landed on the firm trail.

For a moment, neither friend moved. Then the boot gave a muddy wobble.

“We did it!” Fiz cheered.

Bloop picked it up by the heel loop. Mud dripped from its toe. “Now it needs a rinse.”

A shallow stream ran over smooth stones at the trail’s edge. Bloop swished the boot in the water while Fiz held it steady. The mud washed away, leaving the blue boot clean and ready to wear.

Bloop pulled it on and tapped it proudly against the trail. “Both boots are back on walking duty.”

Bloop and Fiz picked up their basket and set off along the smooth trail. At first, Bloop’s boots made two different sounds: clop, squelch. He stopped to check the rinsed boot.

“Is it still muddy?” Fiz asked.

“No,” Bloop said. “It’s just making a damp sound.”

They walked on. Soon the sounds matched: clop, clop. The moon-pears bumped softly together in the basket, and the lumpy turnip rolled from one corner to the other whenever Fiz took a step.

“Your turnip is trying to escape,” Bloop said.

Fiz peered into the basket. “It can try. I know where it lives.”

At the path’s edge, they passed the moon-tree. The curved bark lay where they had left it. Bloop waved.

“Thanks for lending us your boot-helping shape,” he said.

The bark did not answer, but a moonbug crawled along its edge. Fiz whispered, “I think it’s telling the bark a story.”

“Maybe it’s about a very brave boot,” Bloop said.

The trail led past the garden fence and around a quiet hill. Bloop and Fiz talked about the day: the three pears, the lumpy turnip, and the mud bubble that had gone plip. Bloop showed Fiz how to walk with even steps, and Fiz copied him. Together they marched like two important moon-mud rescuers.

When they reached Bloop’s round little home, he opened the door and stepped inside. The rooms smelled like warm berry bread. He took off his boots and set the rinsed one beside the door to dry. Its mate rested beside it, clean and ready for morning.

Fiz put the basket on the table. The moon-pears were still inside, and the turnip had stopped rolling.

“I’m glad you were there to lend a hand,” Bloop said. “I had a good idea, but I couldn’t have done it alone.”

Fiz nodded. “And I couldn’t have held the bark steady without you.”

Bloop glanced toward the trail, where the moon-mud patch waited beside the moon-tree. “The squishy patch can keep its boot-shaped hole for tonight.”

Fiz chuckled. They shared a moon-pear, then said good night. The rescued boot dried by the door as the two friends settled in, glad to be home and ready for a peaceful sleep.