Hey Mom, just wanted to let you know I helped save the day today. Turns out, my grumpy face is perfect for scaring off bad guys and sniffing out hidden treats. Everyone’s calling me a hero, but I’m just being me. Woof! – Grumpy

It began, as most revolutions do, in the utmost secrecy—beneath the silvery glow of the Dog Star, Sirius, as it compassionately watched over the denizens of Pawsburg. My name’s Grumpy, also known in professional dog wrestling circuits as “Grumpers” or the “Grump Man.” I’m a medium-sized Dachshund and chocolate Labrador mix with a personality as stubborn as my tail is curly. But let me not belabor with introductions, for I assume you already know the abbey’s rogue, and perhaps this missive might shed a different light on my otherwise reputedly gruff demeanor.

It was a moonlit night on Bichon Boulevard, dappled with the shadows of bustling paws and whispers. Pyrenean Peak stood sentinel in the background while Shiba Inlet gleamed dreamily in the moonlight. The atmosphere was tangibly electric—a perfect setup for a rebellion.

The target of our unconventional coup d’état was no castle of bricks and mortar; nay, it was the notorious—and dreaded—obedience school, pawing under the misnomer of “Puissance Academy.” Here, under the whip (metaphorically, I hope) of stern and humorless canine instructors, the naïve and spirited inhabitants of Pawsburg were broken into well-tempered husks of their former selves. I had seen too many buddies lose their zest, their spark, their ability to leap into snowbanks with reckless abandon, all at the altar of ‘serious obedience.’

On that fateful eve, whispers of rebellion buzzed around the labyrinth of Pawsburg like the wind might rustle the leaves in a secretive waltz. I sat tall outside Beagle Bagels savoring a last bite of my favorite snack—Chicken, naturally—when Cocoa, my Confederacy in both bounds and bounds-breaking, sidled up. She was a big and goofy chocolate Labrador—a walking (or should I say bounding) contradiction to the iron-fist rule of Puissance Academy.

“Grump Man,” she woofed, her excitement barely concealed, “it’s time.”

Fast-forward through our covert trek around Labrador Lunch and clandestine gathering at the edge of the Sniff and Shop General Store, and we finally converged near the robustly barricaded edifice of the Academy. Truth be told, I found secrecy distasteful, preferring the open bravado of a Sunday car ride or an afternoon of sunbathing. But drastic times… you know the rest.

I dug my paws firmly into the soil, the moonlight casting an honorable halo around my erect, fuzzy ears. Here was the moment—one for the hound history books.

Involuntarily, the dissenters filed out of all nooks and crooks; mischievous mutts, playful pugs, and other disillusioned, yet energetic attendees of Puissance Academy. There was a potent cocktail of anticipation and mischievousness in the air. Even the ghostly echoes of my past rebellion incidents, like barking at my own reflection when I was just a diminutive pup, seemed to urge me forward—though now with clearer purpose.

“Comrades,” I called, my voice cutting through the night briskly. “Tonight, we reclaim our right to be unobedient! To leap into joyously wet snowbanks without a ‘sit’ or ‘heel’ to hold us back!”

Somewhere behind, Cocoa unleashed an impromptu whoop that turned into an almost comic howl, but it rallied the troops nonetheless. It was, in effect (though I daresay, jesting aside, touching) an elation mirrored by every furry face present.

The attack plan, if one could call our raucous rush an ‘attack,’ was deceptively simplistic. We burst into the campus pavilion, our collective barks and growls a symphony of rebellion. We overturned the dull grey obedience clickers and transformed order into a chaos that smelled delightfully of freedom.

No longer would the rain or vets scare us into submission. No more insipid rules to curb our natural exuberance. The change was as instant as it was inevitable.

The aftermath was blissfully serene. As dawn stretched its lazy paws, we reclined in the courtyard, victorious and content. The hierarchy was shattered, and frolic was our new creed. For a moment, as I basked in the first rays of freedom, it didn’t matter that I was dubbed Grumpy—I’d never been happier to be so righteously disobedient.