Hey Ma and Pa,

Just a quick paw-supdate from Spencerville: Embarked on a ‘Goldilocks’ quest at the Doggy Bagel Deli today — turned down beef that was too rich, salmon too bland, but hit jackpot with ‘just right’ roasted chicken. The chefs were amused by my epicurean escapades. Spencerville’s legend, and your Goosey, continues to thrive.

Tail wags and doggy kisses,
Lucy

In the realm of Spencerville, beyond the glimmering waters of Black Bulldog Bay and nestled by the aromatic Whiskers and Wings, there resides yours truly, Lucy — Duchess of Digs and Connoisseur of Chicken Cuisine. Allow me to regale you with my not-so-humble escapades in this canine utopia, a rip-roaring retale (a pun! How delightfully clever of me) of that classic number, “Goldilocks and the Three Bears.” Only this time, it’s “Lucy and the Three Bowls.”

One balmy afternoon, with the sun lazing like a tomcat in the sky, I found myself famished after a particularly animated session of tug-of-war with Sprinkles. We had just sauntered past Ruff-n-Ready when the aroma of The Doggy Bagel Deli beckoned us with a scent so divine, it would make a guard dog relinquish his post.

Inside, three bowls of delectable fare were perched on a peculiarly unattended table. The first bowl contained a steaming mount of beef stew, and though tempting, upon a single sniff, I declared, “This beef stew is too rich!” Drat my refined palate.

The second bowl, topped with a fillet of salmon, called to me. But alas, a delicate bite and, “This salmon is too bland!” I exclaimed in dismay. I am not one to settle for mediocrity, especially when it comes to my legendary taste.

And then, there it was — the third bowl — an unassuming ensemble of roasted chicken, herbed to perfection. Taking a gingerly nibble, my play-fighting spirit gave way to a waltz of euphoria. “This chicken is just right,” I woofed with glee.

I nestled into my after-dinner sunbeam for a well-earned nap but found a rhythm disturbance to my tranquil dreams — the sound of three disgruntled chefs. The story should’ve ended with a chase, the clanging of pots and pans sending me off, but remember, this is Spencerville. We’re all about the happy endings, sans the loud noises (I appreciate that).

The chefs, upon recognizing me, offered a resounding laugh and said, “Lucy, only you can get away with such shenanigans.” I’m not just any tail-wagger, after all. I’m a bit of a legend here, with street creds and droopy ears that can get you chicken, evidently.

Sprinkles, ever the partner in crime, joined me in my chicken conquest, and together, we frolicked back to our backyard kingdom — a duo of dogs savoring the splendor of Spencerville, utterly convinced that our parents would be proud of this deliriously delightful debacle.

As for the moral of the story? Perhaps it’s that even a well-mannered dog with impeccable tastes can occasionally indulge in a delicious bit of mischief. Or perhaps it’s merely that life in Spencerville is, without exception, paw-sitively perfect in every way — especially when chicken is involved.

So let us toast to this canine caper, with a wag of the tail and a shimmering sunset, and remember, I’m Lucy, treasure of Spencerville, and this is just one of my many tales.

The End.