Hey Grandma,

Just saved the Thanksgiving parade in Spencerville with my furry pals after busting a pie heist! Turns out, a little understanding and teamwork can fix more than just a parade float. Belly’s full, tails are wagging, and hearts are warm. Gobble gobble! 🐾🥧

Hugs,
Fat Russ

Listen to the story here

I never fancied myself much of a detective, but you could say I have a nose for adventure – and a stomach for crime, if the crime involves purloined pies. Spencerville was bustling with preparations for the Thanksgiving Day parade. Tinsel was draped over every lamppost, and laughter filled the streets like stuffing in a turkey. Yet, beneath the gaiety, mischief stirred, leaving our celebrations as deflated as a lumpy cushion.

My name is Fat Russell, a bulldog of some repute in this hamlet. Some might call me rotund; I call it presence. I was lounging near the Fetching Deli, sampling the whimsical air – a blend of hot dogs and optimism – when the first float went kaput.

“Russell, have you seen this?” Spencer the Pug, my chum with the symphonic snorts, gestured with a furled brow at the sabotaged floats.

“Indeed,” I murmured, sneezing as a feather from a busted turkey costume tickled my nostrils. The peculiar sensation of intrigue was upon me.

It wasn’t just the floats; decorations were torn asunder, and to add insult to injury, the Chow Hound Café’s signature pumpkin pies vanished without a trace.

“This looks like a job for paw and order,” I said with a wink, despite not having an audience for my punnery. There’s no harm in being your own fan, especially when your tail has the perpetual enthusiasm of a pendulum in a clock shop.

I summoned the local canine delegation – a diverse pack we were, from Fenway’s doppelganger physique (sans the extra pounds, quite rude) to dainty Millie, who could charm the leash off any walker.

“We must save the parade,” I declared, drool punctuating the gravitas of my statement. Our mission: uncover the mastermind behind this pie thievery and parade plunder.

We nosed through evidence, questioning city park squirrels with acorn-sized attention spans and tracking suspicious prints that led us through a jaunt across the all-too-aptly named Yellow Tan Dalmatian Desert and past the Pug Palace, which, to be honest, could use a bit of architectural pizzazz.

As the aroma of culinary crimes led us to Pup-Peroni, our pie bandit dashed into the light – a scruffy terrier mix named Truffles. She was as secluded as a bone buried in the backyard, nursing a grudge against the celebration. It appeared inclusion had skipped her like a dog passed by at the shelter.

Her eyes held the sting of loneliness, gazing upon the festivities she felt barred from. Pathos dripped off her like drool from a St. Bernard – and it could not be ignored.

“What say we fix this mess and you help us make the best dang parade Spencerville’s ever seen?” I offered her, knowing the value of second chances, and meals, quite well.

Much to our delight, Truffles possessed a flair for organizing that put my meandering strolls to shame. Under her watch, the floats became more flamboyant than ever, strutting down Main Street with an air of triumph.

The true spirit of Thanksgiving, we realized, wasn’t in the basted turkeys or pie charts showing statistical deliciousness. It was in a community united, tails wagging in harmony, and an outstretched paw to those who stood watching from the fringes.

As the parade drew to a close, the night was aglow with more than festive lights; it hummed with the warmth of newfound friendship. We feasted together, our merry band of mutts and the once-reclusive Truffles in Happy Hounds Dog Walking, sharing not just a table but a bond woven from the very fabric of gratitude.

Reflecting on our escapades, I reclined upon the luscious grass of Fawn Cream Maltese Meadow, savoring the serene satisfaction of a job well done. We had unearthed the profound simplicity of togetherness, distilled in a shared bowl or a group howl at the moon. And as my paws traced circles on the soft earth, a single, unwavering thought crossed my mind: everything’s better with company and a good sniff around.

The End.