Hey Cassie,

Epic night at the Kennel! Thwarted some sneaky intruders with a blend of Beabull bravery and slapstick shenanigans. The fur-fortress is secure, the tails are high, and there’s a story to tell when you’re back. Keep your two-legged party hat on; Gunner’s got the watch covered. 🐾

Paws and reflect,
Gunner

Listen to the story here

In the heart of Spencerville, where the sun doffs its hat to bid adieu with a twinkle on the horizon, the day was of a particular variety that suggested both mayhem and delight were afoot. ‘Twas the season to be rolly-polly over in blankets and yet adventure was calling, its fair siren song mingling with the scent of festivity in the air. Enter me, Gunner—the quick-witted Beabull of Spencerville—left to my own devices, and what devices they are!

You must picture it: East Bulldog Bay lay shrouded in mist, as if the world had decided to breathe out a soft, billowy dream and right there, in the beating heart of it all, stood The Bark and Swagger Kennel—my temporary abode whilst the humans did humanly things over the holidays.

Now, whilst some might embrace the opportunity for reprieve, I’m a dog of action, verily a furry Ulysses on paw. As East Bulldog Bay lay quiet, an occurrence most peculiar unfolded before my very mystified eyes (those hazel jewels of mine, which I might add, are quite adept at spotting the wayward antics of the world). Two molasses-paced shadows lurked in the dimming twilight, eyeing the kennel with intentions as mischievous as a cat with a spool of the best yarn.

And so it began, the grand tableau. I padded around, tail swishing in quiet indignation—or perhaps in eager anticipation; the two feelings, it seems, are curiously interchangeable in a dog’s heart. How dare they, I thought, interrupt our serene canine carols with such ill-boding sneakiness? ‘Tis not the season for prowling, but for howling with joy.

Now, in a scene worthy of any frenzied silent movie, I rallied my spine; courage is, after all, not the absence of fear, but the presence of a wagging tail in the face of it. Of course, Luna lounged with her customary elegance—a facade, mind you; I’ve seen her hustle in a kerfuffle with the best of them, and Maverick was ever the merry accomplice despite his tail’s incessant betrayal of his feigned indifference.

“Aha!” I woofed, “What have we here? Intruders of the most disparaging variety!” The echoes of my bark reverberated, stirring air and ally alike.

The two stealthy figures—curse their unexpected visit!—approach with glacial care, and I, Gunner, engage in subterfuge most comical. A tennis ball, well-worn and dear to my heart, found itself rolling with sneaky precision toward the offenders.

Thumpity, thump thump, bumpity, bump bump, down the aisle it went. A distraction to vault an epic! The intruders halt; the world seems to hold its breath (as much as a world can, being an inanimate thing, but you catch my drift).

I prance—like a majestic portrayal of courage and comedian—navigating my way through The Bark and Swagger with a stealth born of many a squirrel chase. To my left, Maverick nods, as only a Golden Retriever could, with a twinkle of holiday cheer in his eyes; to my right, sparrows flicker in and out of view, chirruping an overture to the escapade.

And so the gallant defense unfolds: a veritable cacophony of harmless traps that would have the very stooges of silent pictures envious. From slippery floors to a timely toss of unloved carrot sticks (those vile pretenders to the treat throne), our kennel transforms into a stronghold—a fortress of fur and fawning that no intruder can breach.

My siblings in Spencerville, from the tiniest sparrow to the proudest pup, join our cause. We stand, an unbreakable bond—a tale of tails, forever scribbled in the annals of canine lore. And what of the intruders, you ask? Hoisted by their own petard, or paw-tard if you will, sent running into the forgiving arms of Spencerville’s winter night with but the ghost of a dog laugh chasing their heels.

There shall be no breach this eve. Not whilst Gunner stands guard! The spirit of the Kennel remains untouched, save for the pawprints of valor left in a joyous romp of defense.

So rest easy, dear Cassie, as you mingle amongst the two-legged revelers; your Gunner’s got this kennel under paw. And when you return, I shall regale you with the tail. I mean, tale—of how I stood sentinel on the night when jest met jest, and Spencerville remained vibrantly still, a place where well-loved pets and memories hold fast, and where we, the residents, propelled by love, await to be found… and eventually reunited.

The End.

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