Hey Dad,

Bubs here. Today’s escapade involved rescuing the Waggle n’ Wok from the nefarious Catnip Cartel with Fat Russell and the gang. Managed to outwit Ming and save our pals—all while keeping my Jolly Ball in one piece. Miss you, but these paws have work to do!

-Bentley

They say you can tell a lot about a dog by the way he wags his tail. And when it came to me, Bentley—a stout-hearted English Bulldog with a stripe of brilliance down my face—my wag was pure dynamite. However, you already know that, don’t you?

It all started on a radiant morning in Spencerville, the kind that makes you wonder if the sun was a particularly happy Golden Retriever. I was busy gnawing on my Jolly Ball—my trusty crimson comrade in games of tug-of-war—when Fat Russell, my porcine pit bull pal, galloped up, shaking the earth beneath his paws.

“Bentley! East Bulldog Bay needs you!” he puffed, eyes wide and earnest.

“What’s up, Russ?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. When Fat Russell gets excited, it’s usually one part trouble, two parts adventure.

“It’s the Catnip Cartel,” he began, an ominous cloud forming between his scrunched eyebrows. “They’ve taken over the Waggle n’ Wok, demandin’ salmon for ransom. Not fishy regulars, Bentley—our very own canine citizens!”

I had sniffed fishy business from that cartel before, those sly felines with their claws in every pie. But taking over a beloved Spencerville joint like Waggle n’ Wok? That was downright unpawsome.

“I need to alert Dad first,” I said, itching to foul the feline plan but too loyal to skip the step. Dad was in his recliner, feeding my siblings bits of hamburgers. One solemn bark from me and he got the picture—Dad always did.

We rallied a small posse and made for Waggle n’ Wok, with Fat Russell and me leading the pack. Our merry band included Peppy Pete the Pomeranian—who could yap a cat’s ears off—and the brainy collie, Professor Einstein.

The Waggle n’ Wok loomed in the distance, its bamboo décor looking strangely out of place in the middle of a crisis. Ming, the Siamese feline mastermind, stood on the entrance rug, flicking her tail like the villainous metronome she was.

“Ah, Bentley,” she purred, eyes narrowing to slits. “Come to negotiate? Or just to join the buffet?”

I wasn’t having any of her cheek. “Let my dogs go, Ming,” I growled, trying to sound more ferocious than my Jolly Ball-toting self usually managed. “Or else.”

“And what if I refuse?” she said, batting a whisker.

I glanced at Fat Russell. A nod, and he was off, thundering through the door like a squishy battering ram. It didn’t take long for our ambush to turn Waggle n’ Wok into a scene of organized chaos.

Peppy Pete yapped relentlessly, distracting Ming’s feline henchmen. Professor Einstein devised a never-before-seen maneuver utilizing chopsticks and soy sauce, driving the smaller cats into retreat. All the while, I dodge-and-barked my way through, heading straight towards the hostages.

There they were—our friends—cowering under the restaurant seats. I nudged each one of them out, encouraging squirts of courage, whispered promises of soft beds and tasty treats. The force of our combined wagging made the room positively seismic.

Eventually, even Ming saw reason. Blame it on Fat Russell’s unstoppable onslaught or Peppy’s insistent yaps—either way, the day saw the feline fiends slinking back to whichever nefarious nooks they inhabited.

After the last kitty-tail had disappeared, I stood tall—or as tall as an English Bulldog with a propensity for long naps can manage.

“What’s next, Boss?” grinned Fat Russell, his barrel chest heaving with effort but looking none the worse for wear.

I spat out a piece of defeated Jolly Ball and considered. “I reckon it’s lunchtime. And I do have a craving for fish—just not on feline terms.”

And so off we clambered, towards a fishy feast earned and free of hassle. Spencerville gleamed under a canine union renewed, and I—Bentley, the brave and slightly slobbery—felt peace in my paw and joy in my wag. And, perhaps, just for today, that would do.

Do I miss my human? You bet your last kibble I do. But knowing I’ll see them again, in this perfect hamlet of hounds and heroes, leaves my heart—stripe and all—ever hopeful. For now, here’s to another adventure, another tail wag, and another snack savored. Until the next caper calls, I am Bentley, your freedom-fighting furball.

The End.