Teddy and Pinguin and the Orchard Press

One day, Pinguin sat on the patio and drank coffee.

The morning was bright and gentle. Sunlight lay in warm stripes across the paving stones, and beyond the fence the neighborhood orchard stood in neat green rows. Pinguin held his cup in both flippers and looked past the benches, the baskets, and the little pressing shed near the apple trees.

Then his eyes grew round. “The apple press!” he said. “This evening is the picnic. We could have fresh apple juice!”

His coffee was finished in one quick sip. He set the cup on the patio table, hurried through the gate, and waddled fast along the path to Teddy’s house. Teddy’s cozy place had a red door, flower boxes under the windows, and a garage beside it with shelves full of useful things.

Pinguin reached up and rang the bell exactly as he always did: "ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong-diiiiiing-doong".

Inside came steady footsteps. The door opened, and Teddy blinked kindly in the sunshine.

"Pinguin, is that you?"

“Yes!” said Pinguin. “I had a patio idea. The old orchard apple press! If we get it working, we can make fresh juice before the picnic.”

Teddy’s round ears perked up at once. “That is a fine idea,” he said. “Give me one minute, and we’ll take what we need.”

They went into the garage and then to Teddy’s workshop shed, which smelled of clean wood, soap, and metal tools kept in good order. Teddy knew exactly where everything was. Into a small handcart he put a brush, a bucket, cloths, a tin of food-safe oil, a wooden spoon, a wrench, spare bolts, and a hand broom. Pinguin added two empty jugs and a stack of folded pressing cloths from a shelf.

“Do we need anything else?” asked Pinguin, already holding the cart handle.

Teddy looked around once. “Fresh water when we get there,” he said. “And your very energetic flippers.”

“I brought those with me,” said Pinguin.

Off they went together toward the orchard. The wheels of the cart clicked softly on the path. On one side stood tidy apple trees with red and yellow fruit shining among the leaves. On the other side, the grassy picnic spot was already waiting with benches, baskets, and a long table under the branches. A few checked cloths had been spread out, ready for evening.

At the pressing shed, the old apple press stood on its sturdy legs like a hardworking machine enjoying a long nap. It was dusty on top. Dry leaves had blown around the base. The handle was still, the screw looked stiff, and the juice spout had not poured anything in a very long time.

Pinguin set down the cart. “It looks strong,” he said.