“Hey Ma, it’s Chlobo. Spencerville lockup’s got me mistaken for a veggie burglar. Didn’t touch those greens! But came down to Paws On The Grill for a steak treat and ended up in the doghouse! Stuck with Bucky, ol’ milk cart chaser. Bucky says all we need’s good distraction+companionship to break free. Tug-of-war, steak, then home? Watch out for my triumphant return, boss. Paws and Peace,
Chlobo”

My name’s Chloe, only pug to citizen ratio is wonky in Spencerville. I’m glancing longingly across the border of Beagle Beach at a world that was once familiar, now separated by the big iron gate of the Spencerville Shelter. I’m in for a crime I didn’t commit – Grand Theft Vegetable, it reads on my charge sheet. A more atrocious accusation was never made against me, when in totality, it’s widely known of my detest for green diet.

It all began at Paws On The Grill, a place I would more than frequent. My taste buds squealed in delight for their top-notch steak – sizzling, juicy, bathed in their special gravy, it’s a love story on a ceramic plate. While I was lost in my carnivorous reverie, I saw them waltzing in. Men in Black. Well, more like Men in Dark Green Animal Control uniforms, but they’re an abhorrent sight anyway.

“Catch her!” the short guy barked, disturbing the peaceful hum of the place. Sir, they don’t call it Pug-eroni for nothing. I scattered, taking with me chaos, a scared Maltipoo and the delicious memory of my steak. But amidst the pandemonium, they cornered me, and I was never one for catfights.

Chained to the Spencerville Shelter, I yearn for freedom. My usual jaunts to Western Labradoodle Lake, or just the scent of meat grilling at Pup-Peroni, them all have been replaced by dull concrete walls and a dank smell. I draw a rough calendar on the cold stone wall of my cell, each x marking one day closer to my escape.

An old mutt, a Weimaraner named Bucky, is my cellmate. He’s in for chasing the milk cart too persistently, so they say. We often plot, scheming ways to return back home. “You see, Chloe,” he’d start, his eyes drinking a swift panorama of the Shelter, “All we need is a good distraction and the right companionship.”

“Did you just suggest tug-of-war?” I’d ask, perking up at the mention of my favorite pastime; a scheme, a game, and a steak at the end. I was ready to break free. To breathe free air and run towards my mama.

I’m a pug, not a menace. And Spencerville Shelter, I’ve got my paws on and mind steered. I’m coming home.

The End.

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