“Hey Mom, got framed for a pillow crime at the shelter today but staged a legendary ‘Pet Break’ with the squad. Swiped a tennis ball, threw them off my track, and bolted home like an escape artist. Celebrating with Paws-A-Latte and extra cheese pancakes now. Torn pillow? Let’s blame the shelter’s vacuum! 😉 – Bubs”

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Like a track star ready for the biggest race of his life, Tango was usually chilled – except he’d been wrongly accused. Not to make light of a serious situation, but a throw-pillow with its stuffing ripped to shreds held a bigger verdict than Judge Judy could ever come up with.

“Now, Tango”, I tried to reason with him, “I’ve seen you play with your tennis balls, not shred pillows. Are you sure it wasn’t a case of mistaken identity?”

Facing the Spencerville Shelter’s high walls, I imagined a sulking Tango, missing his sun-bathing sessions and cheese-and-cucumber dinners at Pawsome Pancakes, his usual wise-brow eyes filled with unspoken questions.

Oh, the injustice – I mused. But the plot had just begun.

That night was a blitz, planned with the cunning of an ocean’s fourteen. Tango was far from an average Bulldog and I was far from an average pet owner. We were a duo, well, a quintet if you count Ruby, Caramel, Charlotte and Lightning, ready to pull off the greatest and perhaps only ‘Pet Break’ in the whole of Spencerville legend.

“Alright, Charlize Theron…um…Charlotte, you can get through tiny spaces. Lightning, your speed isn’t just a fancy name. Caramel, steward of cuteness, who could resist those eyes? Ruby, oldest and wisest, you can coordinate this.” I looked them in the eyes, seriously, and they wagged their tails – was it a nod of agreement or were they dreaming of Yappy Yogurt?

By 2 AM, Charlotte had wriggled past the shelter fence, arched and petite, graceful as a cat – pardon the comparison. It was a sight worthy of being a Spencerville legend. Tango, excluded from the main plan, seduced the unsuspecting shelter keeper with a trick or two he picked from the Wellness Center – I swear those limbs aren’t just for tug-of-war.

A flick of Ruby’s tail was the signal, and off Lightning tore, F1’s envy – down Red Beagle Beach, up Silver Siberian Summit, until he reached Dalmatian Desert. Apparently target acquired, back he ran, a blur under the moonlight, clasping an object in his mouth – a tennis ball.

My heart nearly jumped. Tango – drawn to the ball like a bee to a flower – seized the distraction and bolted for the gate, where Caramel was batting her eyes and doing her ‘Puss in Boots’ impression.

One swift ‘break’, five barks of victory, and the Spencerville legend lived on. Tango, back in our backyard, rolled under the comforting sun in bliss. An unjustly accused Bulldog turned heroic escape artist overnight. Chewed pillow? Whatever. The vacuum back at the shelter was a more fitting suspect.

Sleep was far from our minds. Today was a day for Paws-A-Latte and extra cheese on the pancakes. Tango, wagging and triumphant, led our merry band straight to their favorite restaurant.

And even the torn pillow? Let’s call it the casualty of a Spencerville legend in the making.

The End.