Hey fam, Chickie here! Spent the day avoiding those blasted strawberries, can you believe it? Met with the crew at The Canine Cafe, had a good laugh about the berry mix-up. Remind me to tell you about it! Sweet dreams from your Strawberry Scourge, Chicken Nugget 🐾

Once upon a time in the wonderland that is Spencerville, an uncanny scuffle emanated from the illustrious Fawn Pug Palace. Sure as sunshine, it was our own Gordon, the Beagle with an attitude, shaking his head as if to say, “Well, if it isn’t another strawberry debacle.”

Now, the folks at the palace had ordered a mountain of strawberries, mistaking them for Gordon’s favorite. An easy mistake if you ask me, I mean, look at Gordon. One can’t help but picture him savoring those juicy delights. But alas, they mustn’t know him as well as they thought. Because, believe it or not, whilst Gordon is a wee monster when it comes to chicken, bananas, and liver, he would rather face a day at the noisy dog park instead of a plate of strawberries.

Greying at the muzzle, our noble hero ventured out from his evening rendezvous at the Pooched Potatoes. “You know,” he jests with Emma, one from his unique pack, “one day, the council at Fawn Pug Palace will realize that strawberries and I mix like oil and water.”

Next stop, The Canine Cafe. This joint is a class apart, mind you. You can expect all sorts of highbrowed discussions here, mostly about chew toys and favorite sunbathing spots. Gordon, fashionably late as usual, sails in, carrying his oversized pink hedgehog toy, unapologetic about his punctuality, or lack thereof. “The day I arrive on time,” he smirks, “is the day I start liking strawberries.”

A hush fell over the place. A newcomer, Otis, the Irish wolfhound, raises an eyebrow, “Strawberries? Don’tcha like ’em, mate?”

Gordon laughs heartily, holding his belly. “Otis, my friend, I’d sooner get along with that beastly vacuum that dad chases me with than with a plate of strawberries!”

The room erupts in laughter and the trials of strawberries are forgotten. Well, for the night at least. Yet, as he lay by the Retriever River that night, Gordon couldn’t help but smile at the place where he and his friends had found an eternal home-away-from-home. “One day,” he muttered under his breath, “Dad’ll join us, and boy, will we have have tales to tell!”

And just like every other night in the sleepy town of Spencerville, with the warm glow of the well-tired sun fading off in the horizon, our beloved Gordon, seasoned scourge of the strawberry, drifted off to sleep, eagerly awaiting the mirth and mayhem of another day in pet paradise.

The End.