I glanced at the puppy as it nonchalantly turned into a sphinx. “Rather cliche, I know,” it said. “For we are to have a riddling contest. Anyhow, we might as well start.” It cleared its throat.

“Only one color, but not one size,
Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies.
Present in sun, but not in rain,
Doing no harm, and feeling no pain.”

I thought for a bit, then remembered a story similar to this in my childhood. “A shadow,” I pronounced.

“Oh, very good. Now your turn.”

I thought for a moment more, then:

“Little Nancy Etticoat,
In a white petticoat
And a red nose.
The longer she stands,
The shorter she grows.”

“A candle,” the sphinx answered immediately. Oh dear. This might’ve been harder than I thought.

“In marble walls as white as milk,
Lined with skin soft as silk,
Within a fountain crystal clear,
A golden apple does appear.
No doors are there to this stronghold.
Yet thieves break in to steal the gold.”

Oh, drat.