Hey Mom,

Guess who’s the new Sherlock Bones in Spencerville? Wrapped up a case of donut theft with a dash of revenge artistry involving a sneezing Mastiff pic at the fashion show. Peace (and pastry) negotiations successful. Just another day in the life of your sniffer-in-chief, Marley J. 🐾

Love,
Marley Jaxon

Listen to the story here

Certainly, let’s have Marley Jaxon take you on a delightful vengeful quest through Spencerville.

—

I’d always considered myself the Tom Jones of the canine world, minus the questionable morality and the human bit, of course. My tale, you must understand, is not of romantic conquests, but rather a pint-sized yarn of revenge, furiously wagging and whipped cream-topped.

It began on a day that had started like any other in Spencerville, with a visit to Doggy Donuts. I trotted through the door, my mouth already watering for a taste of their bacon-glazed delicacies. But as I approached the counter, the unthinkable transpired – a new face behind the display case informed me, with an apologetic wag of the tail, that another customer had just snatched the last of my coveted treats.

Stunned, I retreated to Golden Gate Gardens, my sanctuary, where not even the frolicking puppies could lift my spirits. Licking my emotional wounds, I hatched a plan; revenge would be sweet and served colder than a nosy snout in a snowbank.

Oh, I wasn’t alone in my campaign. By my side was Autumn, my fair lass with a fur coat that rippled like the Brandywine River at sunset. Together, we ventured forth to Best in Show Photography. Our mission: to procure the most unflattering photograph of the usurper, a hefty Mastiff named Brutus, and to broadcast his less-than-flattering side to all of Spencerville.

“Marley,” Autumn had whispered, her breath as warm as the hot air escaping from the vents at Sniff ‘n’ Snack, “are we not stooping to levels unbecoming of furry sophisticates?”

“Pish posh,” I’d responded, my resolve as firm as a well-tended chew toy. “There is art in retribution. It’s like… performance art. Interactive. Audiences love that stuff.”

My paws deftly unearthed an image of Brutus, the Mastiff, caught mid-sneeze. The artistry! The vulnerability! It was to be our ‘piece de résistance’ at The Furry Friends Art Gallery. Timing was of the essence; the Spring Flea Collar Fashion Show was the perfect event for our masterpiece’s unveiling.

The night was electric, each pup and kitten dressed in their finest rhinestone-studded neckwear. When the moment came, Autumn and I made certain to be at the hors-d’oeuvres table, nibbling on salmon pâté, alibis as airtight as Tupperware.

Then, with a flourish reserved for magicians and dramatic chipmunks, the photograph replaced the ‘Golden Bone Award’ centerpiece. The room fell silent. And there in the middle of it all, stood Brutus, frozen between fits of barking and embarrassment.

Yes, yes, I know pettiness is not becoming, but there’s a lesson in these furry fables of ours. Brutus approached, his tail tucked. “Marley, I had no notion my actions would cast such a shadow over your day,” he muttered, his jowelful mumble adding fuel to my lingering ire.

“Oh, it’s quite alright,” I said, every syllable dripping with saccharine sweetness. “I trust you find the photograph to your liking? The light really captures your… ahem… essence.”

Long story short, an agreement was struck – Brutus would refrain from hoarding donuts, in exchange for our silence regarding his sneezy portrait.

And so, balance was restored to our quaint little town of Spencerville, revenge had been exacted, and life moved on at the pace of a tortoise with a destination in mind but no particular hurry to get there. I tell you, nestled snugly between snaps and snuffles, Spritzes and Sprays, Spencerville was our sliver of Heaven—a sandbox for the joyously undead where one day, sweet retribution might just come in the form of a well-placed dusting glove and a case of unfortunate timing.

But shh, my little tale of wrath-whipped-into-submission is just between us, right? After all, in Spencerville, mischief is always afoot, and a story is best savored like a fine steak—thoroughly chewed, voraciously swallowed, and tucked away in the warm recesses of a belly well-loved.

Consider this your bespoke narrative doggy bag, a take-away from Marley Jaxon’s fantastical world, tied with the bow of wit and served with a side of tongue-in-fur cheekiness. Bon Appétreat, my friend. Enjoy every bite.

The End.