Hey buddy,

Just let you know, today I channeled my inner detective to rescue our dapper Schnauzer friend who had his paw stuck out at Muttsky Forest. Had the whole pack in on it – Marbles, Bella, and Ruffles – and we nailed it! Spencerville is safe again, and I’m thinking, maybe it’s time for a chicken victory lap at Paws On The Grill!

Catch you on the flip side,
Apollo 🐾

Listen to the story here

I remember the day as clearly as the polished sheen on a new dog bowl. The sun was rolling out like a golden carpet over Brindle Brown Boxer Beach, and I was relishing in the warm glow of Spencerville’s picture-perfect morning. The kind of morning that makes you want to stretch your legs, chase a frisbee, and maybe solve an inexplicably intricate puzzle just for kicks. Like the time I figured out the treat dispenser; that was a good day.

But before I could sink my teeth into the day’s first game of catch, the air buzzed with urgency. An upset terrier scurried over to me, yapping about a mission. Between snappy barks and the occasional howl, I pieced together the harrowing news: our buddy, a cheerful Schnauzer known for his excessive yet endearing love for getting groomed at The Snooty Snout Boutique, had gone missing.

“Missing?” I asked, incredulously. “In Spencerville? Is that even a thing?”

The terrier shot me a look. If glares could scratch, I’d be itchy. “This is serious, Apollo. He didn’t show up for his appointment at The Tail Wagger’s Tailor, and you know he wouldn’t miss a chance to try on new bow ties.”

A mystery was afoot—or apaw, if you will—and I felt the inherent thrill that I assume humans feel when there’s a Black Friday sale at whatever store sells things humans get excited about.

So there I was, Apollo, the Pitbull with a dash of night sky in his coat, about to go all cloak-and-dagger to retrieve one imprudent Schnauzer.

I rallied the crew with the efficiency of a cat knocking things off flat surfaces. Marbles, a feisty Chihuahua with the heart of a lion and the voice of a drive-thru speaker; Bella, a graceful Golden Retriever with a nose that could track a tennis ball through a hurricane; and Ruffles, the town’s esteemed bulldog mayor, who seemed to know every patch of grass and every fire hydrant on a deeply personal level.

“We’ll start at Paws On The Grill,” I barked, my voice composed but firm. “If anything can lure a Schnauzer out of hiding, it’s the scent of roasted chicken.”

Bella immediately took the lead, sniffing out clues with the intensity of a vacuum cleaner that eyeing a pile of crumbs. Marbles was already strategizing diversions and escape routes, his tiny paws fidgeting like he was about to start a conga line.

The mission took us from the caramel sands of Boxer Beach to the luscious landscapes of Fawn Cream Maltese Meadow. We scoured the area, checking every potential Schnauzer hideout, including his favorite shady spot under the weeping willows where he often digested both his food and the latest gossip.

“And people think pet rescue is just about belly rubs and treats,” I muttered under my breath, the day waning, and my frisbee-absent paws getting twitchy.

As Apollo, I’ve been known for my silences more than my soliloquies, but pals, lemme tell ya, even I was growing concerned; this was turning into a real noodle-scratcher.

It was Bella who found the first real clue—a custom bow tie, our missing Schnauzer’s signature accessory, snagged on a bramble.

“Over here,” Bella called, waving her tail like a flag of triumph. “I found something!”

We congregated around the bow tie, which looked more out of place than a cat at a dog birthday party.

Ruffles huffed, his jowls quivering with each breath. “This is his alright. I remember he wore it at the Spencerville Annual Howl-o-ween Parade.”

Our fears confirmed, we tightened our ranks. The scent led us to the outskirts of town, close to the mysterious reaches of Muttsky Forest, a place of legends and squirrels with an attitude.

And there, in a clearing, like the climax of every story that inevitably involves a squirrel, was our Schnauzer friend, barking up the wrong tree—literally. His paw was stuck in a gnarly root, and he was as displeased as a cat in a bathtub.

“Hold on, buddy! We’re coming!” I announced, taking the lead as I always do in frisbee-catching contests.

But the rescue was swift. With a gentle tug from Ruffles and a bit of strategic digging by Marbles, we freed him. The Schnauzer was shaking like a dog trying to file his own taxes, but he was safe, and that’s what matters in this dog-eat-dog world of Spencerville.

As we paraded back into town, our tails wagging in unison, I couldn’t help but think—Spencerville might be nearly perfect, but it’s the camaraderie, the unexpected adventures, and yes, those moments when we dogs get to be the heroes, that make this place truly extraordinary.

And as we passed Pup-Cakes, I caught a whiff of my next escapade: a roasted chicken feat for the successful team. But that’s a tail for another time.

The End.