“Hey Mama. Stranger than fiction day in Spencerville. Chicken SHORTAGE of all things! Tailspin at the BBQ and Taco pawses. But got lucky at Pawsitively Purrfect. Chicken treats a-plenty, crisis averted! Wagging into the night. Love, your Mill Pond.”

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Never thought I’d see a day like this in our picture-perfect Spencerville. It was a morning, not unlike any other. I sprung from my plush paw-shaped bed, my tail wagging a rhythmic dance of excitement. I wonder, what new ventures will today hold?

Made my way to Dog-gone Good BBQ. I was hoping for a casually roasted chicken, extra beef sausage rolls, maybe even a pint of pineapple-infused pasta topped with some ice cream. They know my order here. They know me. I mean, who doesn’t know Millie?

But the moment I pushed through the door with my button nose, I knew something was wrong. There was a dense heaviness hanging in the room. Eddie, the big Siberian Husky who ran the joint, was pacing by the Basset Hound bar booths. His pace was too quick for comfort, explaining with clumsily chosen words, “There’s a chicken shortage, Millie. Some…some crisis.”

Felt like the world took a dizzying spin. Chicken shortage? Here, in Spencerville of all places? Crisis? I thumped my tail on the checkered floor tiles, but it lacked its usual tempo.

Henry and Shiloh were already there, their eyes widened and moist. Ace and Emmerson arrived shortly, the news palpable in their hunched demeanor. We were five friends in a crisis. Five hollow stomachs on a day when fellowship and food were supposed to reign.

The sun didn’t shine as bright, throbbed is more like it, in the clear sky. We trekked towards the Pup ‘n’ Go Taco Joint. Maybe, just maybe, they still had chicken. We trod past The Pooch Playhouse, Yappy Yogurt, ignoring the luring scents wafting from Gravy Train Café. Our tongues lolled out, but the usual zest for exploration and intimacy of our playful banter had dimmed.

Taco Joint was also ominously quiet. The absence of that alluring mouth-watering barbecued chicken scent hit us like a wall. ‘Desperate Times’, ‘Sausage Day’, ‘Tuff Times.’ Headlines covering Spencerville Daily lacked the usual caper.

Naturally, we moved on to the North Chihuahua Castle, a quiet rebellion of hunger and fear nipping at our excitement. Clipboard-clutching Dachshund at the castle turned us away. “Chicken crisis,” he barked, his voice rimmed with concern.

Our last hopes dimmed. Ace suggested Pawsitively Purrfect Pet Store, a last-ditch attempt. We shuffled our paws, our spirits draining faster than the tide at the beach I loved so much. But, surprise, surprise! Boxes of chicken treats, stacked high to the ceiling. Mayhem ensued, the likes of which Spencerville hasn’t seen before.

Strutting back to Western Labradoodle Lake, my friends and I dined like kings, overlooking the tranquil waters. Tail wags and loud crunches echoed through the night sky as the moon glistened above. Crisis averted but the disaster would bear its mark. Spencerville wouldn’t forget this day. Neither would we. But for now, we lived to wag another day.

The End.

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