Hey Dad,

Just another day in the fur-flying life of your son. Outwitted Duke the Treat Thief at Saluki Sands and reclaimed my biscuit – Bulldog justice served with a side of chew toy diplomacy. Peace, pranks, and paws prevail! Catch you at the kennel.

Barks and smirks,
Beans aka Boshumbuddy 🐾🦴😎

Listen to the story here

As the first blush of dawn caressed the rooftops of Pawsburgh, I, Beans of the unyielding bulldog spirit, ambled down Sapphire Schnauzer Street with a purpose. A purpose, you ask? Revenge – the kind that churns in your belly like you’ve gobbled one too many treats from Pawprint Pizzeria.

Let me tell you about yesterday, when I, a paragon of pups, was wronged. I had found the perfect sunbathing spot on Setter Shore when that overgrown canine vacuum, Duke the Doberman, decided my sun-kissed fur was the ideal place to bury his bone. The bone – my cookie! That devious dog dared to disturb my serenity and snatch away my moon and stars.

So there I was, setting my stocky frame against the morning light, my shadow like a stalwart ship cutting through a sea of cobblestones. The wind carried the scent of freshly flipped Husky’s Hotcakes, but my mind was on vengeance sweeter than syrup.

I sauntered past The Snooty Snout Boutique, where the frilly collars in the window mocked my mood. “Justice,” I muttered to myself, greeted only by my echo dancing between the boutiques and bodegas of our biscuit-built burg.

The town hummed with the sounds of clinking collars and distant barks, but I kept my focus. Like a detective sniffing out the trail of a fugitive, I caught a whiff of Duke’s musky perfume by Collie’s Cuisine, that bistro of slobbering gourmands. My tail wagged not with delight but with determined anticipation.

“Beans, my boy, what’s the rush?” The voice halted me. It was Rupert, the regal Golden Retriever who ran Pet Partners Pet Supplies. He had a way of seeing through pooch plots. I wanted no partners in my plan, but Rupert handed me a chew toy, offering it as a tool for peace.

“No thank you, Rupert,” I declined. “Today, I’m settling a score.”

I reached Saluki Sands where dogs romped with careless joy. And there he was, Duke, triumphant, parading around my cookie like a prize pig at a fair.

I sauntered closer, eyes narrowing, each step a silent drum of war. He spotted me and stood still, his ears back as he recognized his folly.

“Beans, old buddy!” Duke’s tone feigned innocence, but we both knew the gig was up. “Want to play fetch? Tug-of-war, maybe?”

I sat, contemplating his offer, feeling the sun warm my back while the sea lapped at the patience on the shore.

“Fetch… yes, let’s play fetch,” I replied, giving him a sly bulldog smile.

The stick flew, Duke dashed, and as he did, I seized the cookie bone faster than you could say ‘squirrel.’ As he realized the ruse and whirled around, I munched on my reclaimed treasure with the gusto of a pup reborn.

Duke approached, head low, tail between his legs. “Beans, I…”

I stopped him with a gentle nudge, and offered the chew toy Rupert had given me. A sign of forgiveness, bulldog style.

“Next time, Duke, challenge me to tug-of-war if you hunger for defeat. As for now, let bybones be bybones.”

And so, on the sandy banks of Saluki Sands, I reclaimed my cookie and my peace. Pawsburgh, my magical haven, now witnessed revenge the Bulldog way – with a bark of laughter and a lesson learned under a forgiving sun.

The End.