Hey Mom,

Just saved Thanksgiving! 🦃✨ I played detective with Sadie and Jasper, tracked down a blue-furred saboteur named Clyde who felt left out, and welcomed him into our pack. Together, we turned resentment into revelry and restored the parade. Spencerville’s heart is full again, and so is mine. Who knew a Boston Terrier could heal a town? 🐾

Hugs and head tilts,
La Bella

Listen to the story here

The autumn sun set low, casting honeyed hues over Spencerville, on the eve of what should’ve been joys swell and hearts warm with anticipation. Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving Day parade loomed, an ode to the full hearts and heaping bowls of gratitude. But trouble, my friend, oh, it simmered beneath the surface, thick as gravy.

“That’s the third float trashed this week, La Bella,” Jasper’s voice rose above the cacophony of dismay, “and the Pupperoni Pizza stand is ransacked. The turkey – gone!” His long ears flapped as he paced, circling Sadie and me.

“Pull yourself together, Jasper,” Sadie commanded, her fur shimmering like spun gold under the light of the crescent moon. “We have a mystery, and we need calm. We need a plan.”

I watched from my steadfast sentry, by the half-eaten pie on the pavement, the work of the saboteur undoubtedly. Jasper was right, of course; Sadie was steel in the midst of jello. Something about the scene seemed off, stirring an itch behind my patchwork mask. My instincts whispered, and I knew I had to dig, dig deeper than a bone in the backyard.

“Tonight we scour the town,” I voiced, my resolve as tight as the lid on the best treat jar. “We sniff, we search, we track this scoundrel with paws quieter than mouse whispers. And we find out who wants to steal not just food but joy.”

The phantoms of chaotic disappointment couldn’t deter us, not when kinship counts, not when the spirit of feast and family stood on the precipice. The Retriever River shimmered in the moonlight, where not too far from its banks, the Howling Husky Hardware Store loomed, holding possibly the first morsel of our investigative feast.

Telltale tufts of fur, a peculiar blue, clung to the splintered remains of what once promised to be the parade’s centerpiece. We exchanged looks, piercing as the final note in a symphony. Jasper, nose to the ground, tracked the scent, the very air thick with the minced pie of mysteries and malcontent.

We followed the clues, like breadcrumbs through the alleys and byways of Spencerville. Our search led us across Bulldog Bay’s tranquil waters, past Furrific Fried Chicken, where the scent grew stronger. That’s where we found him, in the shadow of the were empty tables once bursting with boisterous barks and howls.

Lonely, disgruntled, a shaggy mutt – sporting a collar a shade too tight and a heart a size too small, or so it was presumed. “Clyde,” murmured Sadie, as if naming him weaved the final stitch in our tapestry of curiosity.

Clyde’s fur was stained with the very blue we found earlier, a living ghost of his handiwork. He growled, a low rumble of thunder on a bright day, his eyes narrowing.

“Why?” I stepped forward. “The feast, the parade, it was for all, Clyde.”

He scoffed, whiskers aquiver, “It’s always the same, La Bella. The same pals and paws prancing, while some of us…we watch from the dumpsters.”

My heart hiccupped, empathy swelling. “Clyde, you – you thought you didn’t belong?”

“Enough,” Sadie’s voice wrapped around us. “We’ve been blind to the cracks, too focused on the shine. Spencerville is home to every wagging tail.”

The crisp night air tangled with our collective breath as Jasper chimed, “Let’s mend this, together. Join us, Clyde?”

It was the dare of dares, courage over confrontation. Slowly, Clyde’s defenses melted, like frost before the sun.

The dawn’s light cascaded over Spencerville, the parade marching on. Floats adorned anew, turkey placed upon high. For us? It was about more than the display; it was about the beating heart within the fur.

Clyde, once a saboteur, now our orchestrator of dreams, led the procession. His skills repurposed for the splendid weave of community. We danced, we celebrated, tails entwined in an unspoken promise.

By the time the stars blinked above, a feast laid before us, our bowls filled with more than kibble, our hearts stuffed with the true essence of Thanksgiving. Generosity, inclusion, and kindness set the table for all of Spencerville.

Through the laughter and clinking collars, I knew, we had not just uncovered a villain; we discovered a friend. The story of La Bella, the Boston Terrier, and her band of misfits wasn’t about cracking a case; it was about cracking open hearts to the light that lives in the darkest corners.

To friends, to family, to the joy of a journey that reveals: we are all but threads in life’s grand quilt, and every thread counts. Even the ones a little frayed.

In Spencerville, every dog has its day, and Thanksgiving? Oh, it belonged to us all.

The End.