Hey Dad,

Just conquered Spencerville with the gang, swiped the mythical Everlasting PB Bone right from under Timmy’s nose! We’re legends in the making, though the ‘ten-bath’ aftermath is looming. Russell’s Tail has turned a page to epic! 🐾🥜

Catch you on the fluff side,
Russell aka Fat Russ

I’m not saying that life in Spencerville isn’t close to perfection, but the thing about being practically perfect is that sometimes, you wake up with the insatiable need to pull off a heist. Not for anything sordid, mind you, but a needling little itch – perhaps born out of one too many naps – steered us toward mischief.

I remember it clearly because Squeako squeaked a cautious “Are you sure?” as I shared the blueprint of our master plan on a rather balmy Tuesday. The target? The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium.

It’s not the catnip that had us drooling—it was their latest shipment, rumored to contain the ‘Everlasting Peanut Butter Bone,’ a chew that not even the most arduous of gnawing would wear down. A treasure like that had to be ours.

Fenway, with his football strategies, was the muscle. Spencer, obviously, was the brains with his Southern drawl disguising the sharpest mind this side of the Golden Retriever River. Silly was the wildcard—you never knew what that one was up to, but you’d be sorry if you didn’t have her on your team.

We gathered at Poodle Pond under the cover of dusk, the water still, reflecting our determined mugs as if to say, “You’ve got this,” or perhaps, “Don’t be idiots,”—the pond was a tad ambiguous at times.

“We in?” I grumbled, the cool night breeze flicking through my brindle fur with anticipation. Tails wagged in silent agreement.

The plan was simple: infiltrate, secure the bone, and exfiltrate before the Mockingjay could crow thrice—or before Timmy the Terrier finished his night shift. That fellow could hear a pin drop in a hurricane.

We passed Bone Appetit, its fragrant wafts of roasted meats taunting our stomachs, but we were bulldogs on a mission. And a pug.

Entering the Emporium was a flashback to every chase I’d ever had with Blue, my heart hammering against my ribcage with sheer exhilaration. I followed Spencer, whose petite pug stature made him practically invisible to security.

The inside was a treasure trove. Leashes gleamed like silver serpents on the walls, rows of squeaky toys tempted with their siren calls, but we were steadfast.

Fenway knocked over a tower of tennis balls in the south aisle—a diversion of genius simplicity. As Timmy loped off to investigate, Silly bounded towards the bone aisle, with Spencer and me close at paw.

There it was, the Everlasting Peanut Butter Bone, lit by a single shaft of moonlight falling through the skylight as if the universe itself approved of our venture.

The snatch was textbook, the getaway less so. Turns out Fenway’s rather robust behind was not conducive to swift exits through cat flaps. But, we were a team, and a few panicked tugs later, we burst free into the night.

Back at Poodle Pond, we reveled in the glory of our heist, nibbling genteelly on our prize. The feeling was marred slightly by the impending guilt of what must surely be at least a ten-bath punishment.

Yet, as Spencer succinctly put it—and I’ll never forget his words as he sprawled by the water’s edge, full of mirth and wisdom, “In the grand scheme of Spencerville, it’s not the heists that define us, but the legends we leave for our owners to smile upon.”

And by George, I’m sure they’re grinning ear to floppy ear, because Russell’s Tail—our tale—has only just begun.

The End.