It all started on a Monday morning. You know, the kind of Monday when even your pillow says, “Don’t go!”

Our teacher, Mrs. D’Souza, had given us a mountain of homework. I swear, if you stacked it up, it could touch the moon. I left it on my desk and went to sleep.

But at midnight, something strange happened.

The homework came alive.

The pages started shuffling, numbers danced, and an essay tried to escape through the window.

Before I could even scream, my dog Bruno bounced into the room. And guess what? My homework ate my dog.

Yes. One gulp—crunch, munch, gone!

The next morning, I told Mom.

“Mom, my homework ate Bruno!”

She rolled her eyes. “Nice try. Go brush your teeth.”

At school, I explained to Mrs. D’Souza.

“Miss, I couldn’t do my homework… because it ate my dog!”

She looked at me like I was an alien. “So now homework eats dogs, does it?”

Just then, the homework in my bag growled.

Everyone gasped.

The pages tore open, equations flew out, and Bruno popped his head from inside my math notebook—wagging his tail like nothing happened!

Mrs. D’Souza froze. Then, slowly, she said,

“Fine. I’ll accept ‘My homework ate my dog’… once. But tomorrow—no excuses.”

And that’s the day my class officially learned:

📚 Homework isn’t just boring…

…it’s hungry.

🐾 The End