Hey Mom,

So, guess what? Your daughter Luna, a.k.a. the “Lunatic,” just pulled off Pawsburg’s slickest doggy heist – swiped a treasure trove of everlasting tennis balls from Fetch! Toys and Treats! Led the pack with brains and brawn, outsmarted the alarms, and left with our spoils before the sun even blinked. Who knew backyard lounging was just a cover for the greatest caper in canine history? Tail wags and victory laps all around!

Catch you on the sly side,
Luna 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

I must confess, the life of a daring downtown Boston Terrier isn’t all plush beds and squeaky toys. No, indeed. It is a life of high stakes and tail wags—a life where each glint of mischief in my eyes conceals a clever ruse.

On a day as bright as the diamond collar at The Snooty Snout Boutique, I found myself ruminating on the humdrum of ordinary dog existence here in Pawsburg. But fear not, for my thoughts rarely linger in monotony. There I was, lounging in my treasured backyard, the sun bestowing its warm kisses upon my black and white brindle coat, when my spirited sister Nova popped her head over the rosemary bush, wearing a grin that could only mean one thing: shenanigans were afoot.

“Nova, darling, your face is a veritable billboard advertising mischief,” I remarked as I trotted over. My two lovable nephews, Louis and Maverick, trailed behind her, panting with anticipation.

“Simple pleasures are for simple minds, Luna,” Nova replied with a twirl. “We’ve devised a little scheme that will require all your cleverness and none of your aversion to baths.”

I simply couldn’t resist. It promised to be the antithesis of ear cleanings and lettuce—displeasures that would make even a lesser dog recoil.

We all met at the Sapphire Schnauzer Street, the light of adventure playing about in our eyes. Nova was quick to outline the caper—a heist that would surely have Pawsburg’s tails spinning for years to come. Fetch! Toys and Treats, our town’s most exclusive emporium of amusements, had just received a shipment of the latest, most indestructible tennis balls. Balls that wouldn’t succumb to a Boston Terrier’s bite or the drool of a slobbering mastiff.

“I cannot overstate the value of these spheroids,” I declared to my cohorts. “The plot is straightforward. We infiltrate, we liberate, we salivate.”

Louis, the wide-eyed beagle, raised a paw. “But how? The place is locked up tighter than a chastity belt at a cat show.”

“That,” I responded with a smirk, “is where Weimaraner Woods comes into the picture. There’s a forest trail that nudges right up against the back of the shop. We’ll make our entrance there so even the sharpest schnauzer sentinel won’t snuff us out.”

With the confidence that only a team of the fittest and furriest can muster, we set out at dusk. Nova, with her ethereal grace, was to distract the guard with her well-practiced, ‘I’m-a-lost-puppy’ routine. I dare say, she could squeeze sympathy from a stone statue.

Meanwhile, Louis and Maverick, utilizing their modest stature, would navigate the maze of Weimaraner Woods to reach the shop. I, ever the intellectual, would disable the alarm. After all, a Boston Terrier has a knack for puzzles, a fact as well-known as Pup’s Paella is for its seafood.

The scent of adventure was stronger than a hundred pig ears as we executed our master plan. Nova charmed the guard—a perky poodle who’d sooner swoon over Nova than pay heed to his post.

Louis and Maverick pawed their way beneath the underbrush, meeting me at the pre-determined spot with wagging tails and breathless excitement. With a nudge of my snout and a twitch of my paw, I diabolically silenced the alarm, permitting my nephews to worm their way through a gap only they could exploit.

The spoils were as magnificent as my daydreams during the drudgeries of bath time: rows upon rows of smooth, green orbs taunting us with their promise of everlasting games. Each of us grabbed as many as we could carry, which, in hindsight, wasn’t as many as we’d hoped. Drool may have compromised my grip somewhat.

Back through the Weimaraner Woods we bolted, our cheeks bulging, hustling to beat the sunrise back to the safety of our respective homes. The beauty of it all was in the simplicity—a few flips of the paw, a dash of cunning, and a slice of thrill.

As I lay in my yard once more, a tennis ball nestled firmly between my paws, I mused on the perfection of our escapade. And though one could argue that a Boston Terrier’s charm lies in her loyalty or her heartfelt play, I would assert that being the mastermind of Pawsburg’s greatest pet heist is a rather fetching feather in one’s cap, wouldn’t you?

The End.