Sniffkin tumbled out at Grandpa's cottage and raced to the door.
Then he stopped. By the mat sat muddy boots. Sniffkin sniffed hard. "Oh," he said very softly.
Wet earth. Leather. Rain. He looked around for the sweet, familiar smell of home, but it was not here yet.
He padded into the warm kitchen. On the table sat a loaf of bread. Just then Grandpa opened the oven with a puff of steam.
Sniffkin sniffed once, twice, three times. The toasty smell was good. But it was not quite right.
So he nosed under a chair and kept searching.
Through the cottage he found more smells waiting: an old wool blanket on the sofa, garden soil on Grandpa's spade, and jam bubbling on the stove.
He sneezed into the wool. A speck of dirt landed on his nose.
Grandpa laughed. "That one kissed you first." Sniffkin blinked and sniffed again.
All at once, Sniffkin darted outside. Maybe he could run all the way back to the smells he knew.
Grandpa followed with slow boots and knelt by the gate.
The wind rustled the tall grass. It turned cool. Sniffkin hesitated.
Then Grandpa wrapped him in a careful hug that smelled like wool, bread, and sunshine all at once.
Sniffkin walked back inside beside Grandpa.
He curled up on the old wool blanket while bread crust crackled softly on the table and the muddy boots waited by the door.
This time Sniffkin pressed his nose into Grandpa's hand, gave one happy huff, and stayed close. The cottage smelled like home in a brand-new way.
