Hey Mom,

Just your ordinary doggy daycare turned action hero over here. When you’re imagining me lounging at the kennel, think again! I’ve been busy thwarting a pair of burglars using my Bulldog wit, my favorite squeaky toy, and the dreaded vacuum cleaner. Who knew your furball was also a furry sleuth? Can’t wait to swap this burlap sack for my silk pillow at home again. 💪🦴

Secret Agent Lilly Bug 🕵️‍♀️🐾

Listen to the story here

Chapter One: “Of All the Kennels in All the Towns”

The whole affair began, as these capers often do, under the veil of festive anticipation. The air bit with a chill, the humans busied themselves with merriment, and there I was, left to my own devices—but not in my usual lush backyard, mind you. Oh, no; I, Lilly, found myself ensconced within the (debatably) comforting walls of the local pet kennel. A grand misadventure, if ever there was one.

Now, don’t misunderstand—I’m no stranger to high society. The kennel was ablaze with festive finery, strung-up lights twinkling like stars wishing they could outshine my illustrious grin. Yet it lacked the personalized touch of my human’s decor. I’m accustomed to a certain… je ne sais quoi at home. This was like exchanging a silk pillow for a burlap sack, I assure you.

No matter, I am nothing if not resourceful. All set to indulge in a slice of kennel life, I was just settling on my appointed plush mattress for my third nap of the day, when the tedium was abruptly punctuated by the click-clack of unfamiliar footsteps.

Chapter Two: “Intruders Most Foul”

‘Twas not the expected clickety-clack of the kennel keepers’ approach, but something far more nefarious. My superbly sensitive ears perked as I overheard hushed tones—a dastardly discourse between two would-be intruders planning to make the kennel their holiday heist.

“Easy pickings,” they said. “Guard dogs? Bah, what do these lapdogs know of guarding?”

I snorted at the affront. Lapdog, indeed. Little did they understand the resolve of the Bulldog spirit—it was my time to shine, to show these interlopers they’d underestimated the four-legged denizens of this canine castle.

Chapter Three: “The Plot Unleashes”

Summoning every ounce of my Spencerville stealth, I shadowed the two ruffians from kennel to kennel. They’d find nothing under my watch, save perhaps the sting of humiliation.

My first order of brilliance involved my prized opossum toy—a decoy I’d plant with a precision only a Bulldog with an under-bite could muster. Lured by the prospect of an easy snatch, the first intruder’s fingers met not the supple leather they sought, but the squeaky horror of ‘Mr. Possy’. His startled yelp was almost worth the potential cost of my beloved toy.

Next, I co-opted the bane of my existence—the dreaded vacuum. In the clutches of the right Bulldog, even such a vile contrivance could become an asset. As the second prowler tiptoed past, I nudged the switch with the finesse of a maestro, and the device roared to life, entangling the villain in a serpent’s embrace of wire and hose.

In the commotion, one tried to flee, but lo, they knew not of my fondness for tug-of-war. Sweaters make excellent ropes, and humans, when plied correctly, can be just as entertaining as any chew toy.

Chapter Four: “The Triumph of a Tailless Heroine”

Oh, with tail or without, this hero’s tale was already wagging itself into legend. The intruders, thoroughly vanquished by the sheer audacity of a single Bulldog, could do naught but sulk in their self-made shambles until the proprietors of my temporary abode arrived, their clumsy capture a fait accompli.

And so, with my makeshift kennel kingdom secure, I basked in the reverent glow of my fellow inmates’ eyes. They’d seen a queen defend her castle; they’d beheld a Bulldog’s bravery.

Chapter Five: “A Holiday to Recall”

As the holidays are wont to do, the ordeal wrapped up neatly like the perfect present under the tree. My humans returned, brimming with apologies for the lonesome hours, little knowing my solitude had been splendidly sullied by intrigue and triumph.

Once home, amidst the shreds of wrapping paper and lingering scent of forbidden cheese puffs, I lay upon my sun-soaked patch. I contemplated the laughable concept of the quiet life—and if one listens, really listens, even the snores of a Bulldog can sound like chuckling.

The End.