Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to have acquired a flat, brightly-colored piece of wood intended for a less sophisticated audience. This "Melissa & Doug" contraption is apparently a "sound puzzle," which I deduce means it's designed to make irritating, repetitive noises to distract the small, clumsy humans they call "toddlers." It depicts a garish yellow bus, and one is meant to pull out the chunky wooden pieces using pegs that are far too large for satisfying batting. The whole point seems to be learning a dreadful song and developing "fine motor skills," which is utterly pointless when you've already perfected the art of the silent, graceful pounce. While the sudden noises might offer a moment of startled amusement, it's likely an utter waste of my valuable energy, which is better conserved for judging things from atop the refrigerator.
Key Features
- PEG PUZZLES SET: The Melissa & Doug Wheels on the Bus Sound Puzzle is an entertaining and educational developmental toy for kids. It plays verses of the wheels on the bus when each of the 6 pieces are lifted, and includes the lyrics. (AAA batteries not included.)
- EASY TO GRASP: This wooden puzzle is made for smaller hands to easily grasp. The pieces create a beautiful school bus illustration.
- PLAY AND LEARN: Shaped wooden pieces with durable plastic pegs are easy for small hands to grasp, making this a perfect preschool puzzle that helps with fine motor skill development, as well as auditory processing.
- GREAT GIFT FOR AGES 2 TO 4: This puzzle is an educational gift for kids ages 2 to 4 years. Add the Melissa & Doug Alphabet Sound Puzzle to round out the hands-on play experience and to give kids an engaging option for screen-free fun.
- “THE GOLD STANDARD IN CHILDHOOD PLAY”: For more than 30 years, Melissa & Doug has created beautifully designed imagination- and creativity-sparking products that NBC News called “the gold standard in early childhood play.”
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived in a transparent wrapping that crinkled with infuriating promise, only to reveal the dull reality of painted wood. The human placed it on the floor, beaming, as if she had just presented me with a freshly poached salmon. I gave it a cursory sniff. It smelled of sawdust and despair. This was a toy for a lesser being, one of those "neflings" that occasionally toddled through my territory, all sticky fingers and startling shrieks. I saw the clumsy pegs, the crude illustration of a bus filled with vacant-looking animals, and turned my back on it with a disdainful flick of my tail. It was an insult to my intelligence. Later that week, my fears were realized. A nefling was deposited in the living room, and the puzzle was deployed as a containment field. The small creature, with the focus of a confused gnat, managed to pry a piece loose. A tinny, synthesized voice blared, "The people on the bus go up and down!" The sound was a physical assault. My ears flattened against my skull. The nefling, of course, giggled and proceeded to orchestrate a cacophony, pulling out piece after piece. I watched from the safety of the mantelpiece, a sleek gray shadow of judgment, as the wipers went "swish" and the horn went "beep." It was a symphony from the seventh circle of hell. After the nefling was extracted, leaving a trail of crumbs and chaos, the house fell into a blessed silence. The puzzle lay abandoned, a single piece—the driver, a smug-looking bear—missing from its slot. It had been flung under the credenza during the earlier maelstrom. In the quiet of the deep night, a thought wormed its way into my mind. What power did this noisy block of wood hold? I slipped down from my perch, my white paws silent on the hardwood floor. I located the missing bear piece with ease and nudged it out with my nose. It was disappointingly inert. Then, my paw brushed against the main puzzle board. Idle curiosity, a force I rarely admit to, took over. I hooked a single, perfect claw under the peg of the piece showing the wheels. With a gentle lift, the sensor was triggered. "The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round..." it sang into the stillness. The sound was still atrocious, but in the silent house, I was its sole conductor. I was the master of the noise. A slow, deeply cynical purr rumbled in my chest. The toy was vulgar, primitive, and an affront to good taste. However, the ability to summon a single, jarring line of a children's song at 3 a.m., just as my human has drifted off to sleep? That is a strategic advantage of the highest order. The puzzle, I decided, could stay.
