Hey there!

Just an update from your fur-ocious investigator, Lulu. I’m the tail-wagging avenger in a dog-eat-dog world, ensuring Silver got his comeuppance for the Pupcake fiasco. Justice served, honor restored, and now? It’s nap time in a sunbeam with dreams of an old friend. 🐾😌

Catch ya on the flip side,
Lulu 🐶✨

Listen to the story here

I wake up in a room that’s too colorful, too vibrant—like a painting that’s had one too many brushes dipped in the palette, and it’s all looking like Cream Maltese Meadow on a sugar rush. The sun’s beaming, blasting through the windows of Choco Chihuahua Castle, but I’m not smiling. There’s a taste in my mouth, and it isn’t cookies. It’s the gravelly tang of an unsettled score.

The ceiling fan above whirs like a distant cousin of that vacuum cleaner back home—may fleas infest its innards. That’s not the right noise for waking up, and it certainly isn’t the purring comfort of Pupcake’s snores. Ah, Pupcake. The echoes of our barks still dance in my mind, there was fire in that Shepard mix, a blaze that matched my own fury—a year gone now, a year since Pupcake got hoodwinked by that slick Weimaraner, Silver. Promises of treasure, endless bones beneath the Tan Dalmatian Desert. Ha, what a ruse.

I scratch behind my ear as memories flicker, tumbling around like I’m sniffing through yesterday’s trash—ribbons of remembrance. The Weimaraner was all shine and no substance, a swindler in a sleek coat, and I’m chewing over revenge like it’s the last bone in Spencerville.

The day’s hotter than the barista’s breath at Paws-A-Latte, and just as bitter. I wiggle off my bed, paws padding against the marble floors—click, clack, clickity-clack—then, through the marketplace, past the slobbering tongues drooling at the sight of The Wagging Tail Bookstore, and into the thick heat that wraps around Spencerville like a choke collar.

It’s a blueprint today, not of an idyllic romp through the meadows, but of vengeance—tailored to my measurements. And there’s Silver, right across the way, by The Pooch Playhouse, trying to pawn off some second-rate knockoff Jolly balls to a naive pups. It’d be laughable if it wasn’t so irksome.

No preamble, no barking. I approach, slow, like the way a shadow creeps across the lawn in the lazy afternoon. My jowls pull back over my teeth—not out of a smile, but a promise of what’s to come. Silver’s sales pitch halts like a dog yanked back by the leash, eyes locking onto mine, recognizing the reckoning at his paws.

“Remember Pupcake?” I growl, my voice gruff as gravel. I see it then, the flicker of guilt, the tremor in his paws. The prank had gone too far; Pupcake ended up lost in the desert for days, chasing mirages, dreaming of bones—a spirit now wandering in everlasting fields.

The Weimaraner dog-paddles in excuses, but I’m pushing forward, lunging. The air’s thick with tension, stifling as a summer’s heat haze, and my bark is a thunderclap—loud and clear. It’s not just for me; it’s for Pupcake, it’s for every wagging tail that’s been duped by a shiny coat and a crooked grin.

I don’t bite; I don’t need to. My presence, my fury—it’s enough. A public exposure, Silver skulking away, tail between his legs, dishonor his new collar. It’s a triumph, small but mighty, like the resolve in an English Bulldog’s heart.

Revenge isn’t as sweet as cookies, but today, justice tastes just fine. Pupcake’s memory is honored, and I can finally lay down in my brindle sun-kissed spot in the meadow, drifting into dreams where growls subside, replaced with the gentle snoring of a Shepard mix, forever my friend.

The End.