Hey, Mom and Dad,

Epic fail turned comedy gold today 😂 Got lost en route to the Shih Tzu Summit, arrived late to Pepper’s dismay. Then got framed for a biscuit heist I swear I don’t remember committing. But ended up laughing it off with pals. Spencerville life, eh? Bookmark this one in the ‘daily shenanigans of Coach Man-doo’. Belly rubs and breadcrumbs, Coach 🐾

I awoke to the glorious cacophony that is the canine morning reveille in Spencerville, my considerable ears just tuning into the barks and howls of the day’s bright beginning. I rolled off my bed, or perhaps it might be more accurate to say I flopped, the manner in which I hit the floor a testament to my general lack of grace. Today was the day, I reminded myself, the Great Shih Tzu Stadium Meetup, a scheduled summit of doggy delight, or so it had been decreed by the ever-optimistic Pepper.

Shaking the sleep from my glorious twilight-toned fur, adventure’s call was a strong one, though not nearly as alluring as the scent wafting from Bone Appetit. Hamburger and fries for breakfast? Don’t mind if I do. As a bulldog, I must uphold certain stereotypes and my appreciation for food is a flag I wear woven into my very collar.

Breakfast demolished and morale at an all-time high, I embarked toward Shih Tzu Stadium. However, the oft-told fables neglected to account for one’s propensity for losing the proverbial plot, which in my case could be simplified to losing my way despite the distinct landmarks of Spencerville. Who knew North Chihuahua Castle was north? I had simply assumed it was a title, not a direction.

What I hadn’t foreseen was the convergence of events that led to my next series of blunders. Distracted by an impromptu demolition session of an unsuspecting plastic bottle, I was a mile off course. By the time I reached the designated place of rendezvous, Pepper’s face wore an expression that screamed of social treason.

“Coach,” she started, the peal in her voice threaded with restrained annoyance. “We almost sent out a search party.”

I wagged my tail, the universal sign for ‘Oops, my bad’, and took my place among friends.

The activities unfolded, and somewhere between Mr. Chips’ tall tale recounting and Liza Minelli’s grass-chasing frolic, disaster struck in the form of biscuits—missing biscuits, to be precise. Accusations flew like slobber from a St. Bernard’s jowls: someone had devoured the entire platter meant for the after-game snack session.

As sure as my underbite marks me unique, the breadcrumb trail led to me, or more accurately, errant crumbs leading to my very paws. While my reputation as a gourmand preceded me, I maintained innocence – until the arrival at the Pup ‘n’ Go Taco Joint for lunch revealed the wrapper of the aforementioned biscuits in my collar.

A fringe of fur stood up like an offended cat’s tail on my neck. How they got there could only be described in the most fanciful of tales, but time had not allotted for yarn spinning; my friends’ gapes and stares demanded explanation.

A confession spun off my tongue like drool in a midday nap: “I have no memory of this betrayal.” A bulldog, after all, can admit when he has been framed by fate or snack cravings.

Cue the laughter, much at my expense, a surrounding echo growing as each furry friend pieced together the comedy of errors that formed this most unfortunate misunderstanding. Through chuckles and belly rubs, we vowed to pin it on the cats next time.

As the sun dipped below the silly horizon of Spencerville, the day concluded not with a stern scold but with jovial jests about my now-suspect eating habits. As bulldog honor dictates, I let the slights slide like an unwanted ear cleaning, for laughter among friends is a tune always in key, even if the road to it is paved with ludicrous mishaps and mistaken biscuit feasts.

The End.