Hey Dad,

Just had a real GoldiGabby adventure in Spencerville! Tried chairs like royalty, snubbed kibble for steak, and found a bed that was pure bliss! It’s been a just-right kind of day, minus our arch-nemesis, the vacuum. Tail wags and doggy dreams!

Woofs and wags,
Gabby 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

Once upon a sun-splashed quadrant of that zesty riddle called time, there I was, Gabby, the Frenchie, philosophizing in Spencerville, a realm woven from the threads of eternal canine camaraderie. If you could hear me, I’d say my anecdote, but you’re here, so just watch my tail wag the tale.

This mundane morn has dawned a touch out of the ordinary, striking a different chord, much like a howl at a non-auspicious moon. You see, the daily unfolding of Spencerville’s tale took a spin — a fairy tale retelling. You know me, bounding nonchalance personified, but today, this day, I felt like Goldilocks. Yes, the one of ‘too hot, too cold’ fame.

As I sauntered down the street, tail set to ‘merry,’ I caught whispers of a tale, a whiff of anarchy in the scent-sational air, that fluttered through the foliage of Western Husky Hill. They spoke of three chairs, three beds, three bowls of porridge, and there I knew… ah, I knew! I would partake in a quest of just right comfort and flavor.

Now, my favorite spot, you might think it’s a plush cushion by the window, but today it’s a legendary chair that stood before me, one of the trio, in the expanse of The Doggie Daycare. I thought, “Why not?” Trees can sway, brooks can babble, but a chair inviting a sit — now that’s a narrative arc.

The first chair, it threatened with conformity and how we Frenchies abhor the mundane embrace. “Too stiff,” I declared without a flinch of decorum. The second, ah, it swallowed me whole, a cuddle that felt more like a constraint. “Too soft,” I grumbled with a twitch of disdain. So the third, it was just right, a throne of contentment cradling my cream contours.

The day danced on, and GoldiGabby, that’s me, decided that porridge — or let’s be frank — the canine equivalent, a delectable steak and roast, was in order. Kibble Cuisine was abuzz with the afternoon parade, but my menu was preordained. Is it kibble today? Oh, heavens, no. We sought that sizzle, that succulence — I needed a feast fit for the palate of a discerning Frenchie.

They placed before me three bowls. The first, it was agony, too bland for a tongue laced with valor. “Too dry!” I sighed. The second, too rich, set to overwhelm my savoir-vivre. “Too decadent!” I woofed. But the third, ah yes, it purred to my soul. “Just right,” I mouthed in silent celebration.

You get the rhythm of this tale, right? Sunbathing in East Bulldog Bay, I surveyed beds suited for slumber. The first was a bastion of burlap — “Too scratchy,” my voice echoed through my own ears. The second, a cloud of down, yet it swallowed me like the belly of a whale. “Too engulfing!” I stifled a snort.

And then, I found it – the spitting image of my own bed back home with Dad, the memory crisp like an autumn leaf, and it was divine. “Just right,” I sighed, tumbling into dreams peppered with squeaky hedgehog soirees and tug-of-war escapades.

Throughout it all, Amy my partner in crime, shrugged her shoulders in that ‘here’s-Gabby-being-Gabby’ way, her eyes mirroring mirth at my singular pursuit of perfection.

My exploits, they led me through a microcosm of misadventures and whimsy, seeking that ‘just right’ essence in a town that thrived on fantastic realities, a town spiraling through time like a leaf caught in a canine whirlwind.

So take this tale, roll it around like a cherished toy, bask in its warmth. I’m Gabby, the Frenchie from Spencerville, having a day that’s not just good, but just right — and the vacuum, that beast, is nowhere in sight.

The End.