“Hey Dad, today proved I’m more than a salmon lover. Was suspected by the police dog for a crime at Fur Tacos, but bananas? You know me. Ended up at the shelter, but escaped during the cats’ midnight ruckus, using none other than banana peels to cover my track. Now, I’m back, hero-like, basking on Red Beagle Beach sans bananas. Moral? Embrace your inner bulldog & husky and trust your gut. P.S Hate bananas.
Cheers,
Roamer”

Listen to the story here.

I was minding my own business at the Barkery, just about to sink my teeth into a juicy salmon steak, when the Pitbull from the sheriff’s department strutted in. His entrance was more like the scramble of a confused turtle than the dignity you’d expect from the law enforcement around here.

“Listen up, everybody. We got a report of a midnight swindler at the Fur Tacos,” he announced with a whimper. Then he looked directly at me, with his one good eye. “Got anything to bark about it, Roamer?”

In the blink of an eye, I, Roamer, a beloved husky of Spencerville and a lover of salmon and long walks by the river, or any place that’s not a moving vehicle really, found myself accused of a shoplifting scandal. Even the bulldogs from East Bulldog Bay paused their poker game in surprise. A banana slipped from someone’s mouth. Now, if the crime had involved salmon, I might’ve fallen under suspicion. But bananas? Not in a million dog years.

That night, I found myself behind bars at the animal shelter. My canine comrades — including the boisterous Boxer, my mischievous accomplice, and the lazy Basset Hound, who was too busy snoring to provide an alibi — were remarkably silent on the streets. It seemed the only way to restore my tarnished reputation was to break free. Not an easy task, considering my disdain for confined vehicles.

My plan was simple yet audacious. At midnight, when the neighborhood cats orchestrated their symphony of chaos, I started digging my way out under the fence. I knew my dislike for bananas would soon become my ticket to freedom. I covered my tracks with discarded banana peels, a scent so detestable that no dog dared to follow my trail.

You should have seen the face on that Pitbull when dawn broke and he found my cell empty. It was priceless, just like the vintage tennis ball on Pet Partner Pet Supplies’ window that all dogs drooled over. I’m no Frank Sinatra, but ironically, doing it my way got me my freedom.

Back in town, I was welcomed like a hero returning from his conquest. The dogs barked with joy, while the cats watched from the sidelines, envy masked by their aloof silence.

Later that evening, at the Red Beagle Beach, we celebrated with a grand feast – and you better believe that not a single banana made it to the menu.

So, my dear friends, that’s the tale of how I, Roamer the Siberian Husky, wrongfully accused, managed to out-trick the law and escape the animal shelter. The lesson was clear. Sometimes you’ve got to fight like a bulldog, plan like a retriever, and act like a husky to clear your name. You also got to trust your instincts and, more importantly, hate bananas.

The End.