📱🐾

Hey, Fido! You wouldn’t believe the day I had. Elektra the Greyhound had the audacity to swipe my Lamb Chops plushie during the festivities, so Rocky and I staged a daring heist to retrieve it from her lair. We dodged guards, scattered her treats for the stray cats, and emerged victorious. Lamb Chops is back where it belongs, and balance is restored in Pawsburg. 🐶🔙✨

Catch ya later, Agent D.

– Daisy

They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but I, Daisy, a blue-ribbon mix of Dachshund and Beagle, will argue it’s savored warm—like a sunbeam on a crisp morning in Pawsburg. This magical town comes alive when our humans are away. Despite my usually calm demeanor, I found myself plotting against the one adversary who dared cross me: Elektra, the sleek Greyhound who snatched Lamb Chops from right under my nose during the Fall Festivities at Chestnut Cocker Courtyard.

The courtyard was buzzing that day, with Frankie’s Famous Fire Hydrant Game drawing a crowd, and Rosie, the Border Collie baker, dishing out her renowned peanut butter paw-prints. I should have been overjoyed, nestled in the heart of our community. Instead, my heart raced with the fury of being wronged. Lamb Chops, my stuffed lamb with the comforting plush texture, was now paraded down Chestnut Cocker Courtyard by Elektra as though it were a prize.

Off to Malamute Mountain I doddled, my short legs working double-time. Rocky, my sleepover mate, tugged at his leash. “What now, Daisy?” he barked, curiosities tinged with concern. Now, Rocky’s inquisitive nature proved invaluable. Despite him once snagging my favorite napping spot (oh, the audacity!), I was determined to have him as my accomplice.

“Elektra,” I huffed, squinting towards the summit of Malamute Mountain. “She took Lamb Chops.”

Rocky’s ears perked, and he tilted his head. “No!” he yelped, ready to spring into action.

That night, when all of Pawsburg dined and reveled, I made a plan. Rocky and I would disguise ourselves and sneak past the Greyhound Guards, Thaddeus and Clive, that protected their lair near Basenji Bay. We dressed inconspicuously—me in an old, scruffy sweater I found near The Barking Boutique, and Rocky in a hooded sweatshirt.

In the dead of night, the twinkling luminance of a hazy crescent moon guided us. Rocky took to the lead. With a competence that showed intelligence lay beneath his floppy-eared exterior. I stayed close. My loyalty unwavering, and my focus reminiscent of a Beagle on a scent trail.

Trot-trot buzzed our paws over the gnarled wood bridge arching Basenji Bay. The rhythmic lapping of water nearly submerged Thaddeus and Clive’s mutterings about the best grooming parlors. Tail pulsing with determination, I nudged Rocky towards the footholds of Elektra’s den.

Incredibly, Elektra had not just taken Lamb Chops; she’d amassed a small cherished collection—plushies from Mutt Munchies giveaways, bones left unfinished, odd socks. Typical. But Lamb Chops was there, sitting atop the motley mountain like an unattainable dream.

Then, fate threw fortune our way—or perhaps it was just Rocky’s love for a good steak bone. Elektra had stepped out briefly for a nightcap at Dachshund’s Deli. Rocky and I tip-pawed into the lair and I retrieve my Lamb Chops. I stared at the innocent, plush face of my companion.

A vindictive streak sent me to turning the moist air pump—and then, slightly nudging the heavy earthen jar of her favorite chicken-jerky treats towards the edge. Like a faithful Beagle on a scent, I scattered them. The stench of her beloved feast strewn about, would serve as breakfast for the stray cats of Basenji Bay—a just taste of Elektra’s own medicine.

As we trotted back to Chestnut Cocker Courtyard, mission accomplished, a calm sense of balance returned in Pawsburg. That night, nestled amid my favorite blanket, with Rocky watching on contentedly, I nuzzled Lamb Chops closer. Revenge, it turned out, was not cold or warm—but perfectly plush.

The End.

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