Hey Mom,

You won’t believe my day. Imagine your 17-pound fluffball (yes, me, CJ) turning into a secret agent! Trixie the Yorkie got dog-napped, and me and my pals—Bruno, Shadow, and Fluffy—pulled off a rescue mission at Snooty Snout Boutique. Trixie’s safe, and I’m back home, ready for our reunion, cuddling with my “baby” on the couch.

Love, Bubbie

I’m CJ, a brown and white Pekingese-Jack Russell-Chihuahua mix with an underbite that, if I do say so myself, adds a certain je ne sais quoi to my 17-pound frame. Some might say I look like a mini Cerberus that took a wrong turn at grumpy and ended up lovable. Relax, I’m not here to serve you a delicacy of woe presided over by the kitchen of James Bond. Instead, strap in as I take you through a regular day in Spencerville that swiftly turned into a pet rescue mission, the likes of which you wouldn’t believe.

I spend my days here in Spencerville, a nearly perfect pet paradise that cradles us on a comfy cloud of “it’s-all-going-to-be-alright.” It’s sort of a prequel to an everlasting reunion with Mom, which we all know will happen eventually. But for now, there’s jerky to be devoured, walks to embark on, and stuffed animals (or “babies,” as I like to call them) to enmesh in slobber.

On this particular day, I rocked up to the Doggy Bagel Deli, a locale known for its Shih Tzu-tough bagels but not much help for a Pekingese with an underbite. There I was, tail wagging at methamphetamine speed, waiting for a jerky-infused bagel, when a cry for help pierced the air. Maybe I was channeling my inner secret agent, but I knew someone needed a dose of canine courage, stat.

“Someone’s taken Trixie!” barked Bruno, a bulldog with a penchant for melodrama but whose loyalty was steel reinforced.

Trixie, the dainty but fierce Yorkie, was my friend, and I owed her countless favors for smuggling me extra jerky from the Pupsicle Palace when no one was looking. I couldn’t leave her high and dry.

Our ragtag team assembled at Western Fawn Pug Palace. Picture this: a gathering of furballs with the resolve of gritty detectives. Beyond myself and Bruno, there was Shadow, a black Labrador with an uncanny ability to dig holes in a manner that an archaeologist would envy, and Fluffy, a Bichon Frise whose unassuming charm was our secret weapon.

“Word on the chew toy circuit is that Trixie’s being held at Snooty Snout Boutique,” Fluffy announced. Only the snobbiest pets dared venture there, and it was always unknown why.

Shadow’s digging skills came in handy as we tunneled through a visually unappealing but olfactorily delightful back alley, finally surfacing behind the boutique. Daggers of uncertainty poked at my bravery, but there was no turning back; Trixie needed us.

I nosed my way into the boutique through an open window, ears perking up at every sound, muscles taut in anticipation of an unseen foe. There she was, Trixie—her fur more disheveled than usual but no less regal.

“CJ,” she whispered, almost in disbelief, “You came!”

“We’re not leaving without you, Trix,” I said, my underbite out in an audacious smile.

Bruno, towering like a bulldozer on legs, guarded our exit as we hastily made our way out. Shadow deployed his strategic digging once more to create a quick path of retreat, while Fluffy distracted the boutique’s pampered patrons with his endearing antics.

By the time the sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of warm cranberry and toasty marmalade, Trixie was safe, sound, and salivating over a celebratory jerky feast back at the park.

We laughed, reflecting on our Mission Impossible escapade—discussing it as if we were hardened operatives who had seen much more than just the underbelly of the Snooty Snout Boutique. CJ had now tasted the thrill of a heroic rescue, itching for a bit more adventure from the tranquil haven of Spencerville.

Though our human-like lives brimmed with fun and games, the undercurrent of courage and loyalty stitched our stories together—each one more tail-waggingly earnest than the last. Until then, the wait for Mom continues, comforted by the nightly ritual of cuddling with my “baby” on the couch, worn out but happy.

So, if you ever find yourself down, remember: even in a seemingly perfect town like Spencerville, there’s always a jerky interlude awaiting the brave and curious at heart.

The End.

Share This Story: