Hey Mate,

Walter here, resident brains behind the pup-operation in action! Found myself missing my fav pink flamingo toy the other day – decided it was high time for a canine heist at Pawfect. Murphy on sniffing duty, Spunky scaling the fences, Stibbions on watch. All for one damn squeaky toy, you believe it? Remember, it’s always a dog-eat-dog world out here, but we’re still tail-wagging friends.

Paws and all,
Big W.

Listen to the story here

I reckon to myself, here we are, Walter, me and our team, huddled in the dim moonlight shadows of The Pawfect Training Center. Why Pawfect? Well, you ever seen a dog pick locks? Perfect seemed a bit lofty, let’s be honest. We’re good dogs, not good locksmiths, yeah?

“So,” I begin, my tongue lolling out, “If I’m understanding correctly, Murphy’s going in through the back, sniffing out the security cameras, God bless his Labrador nose. He’s the veteran bringing in old-school techniques. Fluffy cotton-ball Shih Tzu for brains that he is.”

Next comes Walter, and I have to tell you, that’s a sight. Walter, with his beefcake brindle muscles and his been-there-done-that face, hunched over a blueprint and pointing with a paw. The mastermind. The dog-gone genius, ain’t he? “And remember, time is off the essence.”

“Three minutes, seventeen seconds for the squirrels to get in and out of the toy supplies,” interrupts Spunky, a spry one-eyed Jack Russell, part of our team because no one can scale fences like him. You should’ve seen him in the Boxer Beach agility races. He ran them more like agility triathlons.

Several nods of bushy tails confirm the message is received. The operation, exceedingly complex, a verbatim ‘Pawfect’ heist, is to be executed in bat-like silence. The marauders that we are, the scent of adventure sets our fur on edge.

Walter’s favorite, the neon pink flamingo, the object of our pursuit, had run out of stock at our frequent haunts. Fetching Deli, Bark Shak, Chow Down Chow Chow, none of them had our flamingo. A measly toy for pete’s sake. Not the end of the world, I suppose. But have you seen Walter play with it? Hunched over it like a tigress protecting her cub, honking it with such passion. It wasn’t just a toy.

The day of the heist, my heart drums against my ribcage, a touch too loud for comfort. As we gather under Walter’s oak, Spunky wears an intrigued grin, teeth gleaming under streetlights. Murphy’s grey muzzle sniffs the breeze. Walter, as always, seems calm. Stibbions, our ever reliable Pomeranian lookout, yips a coded message. It’s time.

With a last slurp of my water bowl, I tighten my bandana. Walter leads the pack stealthily through the lanes of Spencerville. It’s a strange night, with the taste of adrenaline stronger than any salmon, the wind whistling tales of glory, the oak tree waving us reservedly. Tonight’s the night we risk it all for a shot at joy.

Just goes to prove the age-old adage, doesn’t it? You can take a dog out of the hunt, but you can’t take the hunt out of a dog. As Walter harks us onto the property, I can’t help but smirk. Who would’ve ever thought there would come a day when an old Airedale like me would be robbing the PAWfect Training Center of a squeaky toy!

And as Murphy opens his bag of tricks, I can’t help but think, “Oh, the escapades we find for the ones we care about. Walter, my dear friend, this squeaky flamingo is more than just a toy, it’s a symbol of our unyielding friendship.”

The End.