Hey Mom, you’ll never believe what happened tonight! Remember the Great Kibble Crunch Crisis I told you about? Well, Apollo and I teamed up to outwit the Ruffians and reclaim the stolen chicken-flavored kibble! We even used socks as bargaining chips! All in a night’s work for your loyal, curious Percy 🐾

Love, Perss

### Episode 32: The Great Kibble Crunch Crisis

“Meet me by the Fetching Feline Pet Emporium—the kibble crisis has escalated,” Apollo barks into my ear through the communication collar.

“Oh, just another day in Pawsburg,” I mutter, shaking off the warmth of my favorite soft blanket. My sleek black coat shimmers under the moonlight pouring through the window. My mom’s quiet snore signaling another night of human oblivion—it’s go time.

Bounding out the secret doggy door, I dodge the ghostly shadows of streetlights and make a beeline for Vizsla Valley before sliding into the back alleys of Pawsburg like some covert canine agent. Apollo stands there, a muscular silhouette against the backdrop of the Fetching Feline Pet Emporium. His hound-dog eyes scan the scene like he’s awaiting an imminent apocalypse.

“What’s the sitrep, Apollo?” I question, sliding to a halt beside him.

“Percy, the word is out—the shipment of divine chicken-flavored kibble destined for Pups’ Poutine has been—wait for it—STOLEN!” His tone is grave, almost theatrical.

My ears perk up. We’ve already got restless fur everywhere. “Stolen? By whom? Who would perpetrate such a perfidious act?”

“It’s believed to be the work of the Ruffians,” he says, acknowledging my favorite nemesis with a disheartened sigh.

“The Ruffians… figures,” I bark back. My mind is troubled by thoughts of my favorite chicken kibble held hostage. Catastrophe. “We’ve gotta mobilize. Let’s hit Fetch! Toys and Treats for some emergency squeak toys. If anyone knows the way to a Ruffian’s heart, it’s a squeaker.”

Even amidst disaster, curiosity propels me forward. We navigate the winding paths, and our paws pound against the cobblestone streets as we sprint towards Vizsla Valley.

We burst into the shop, both breathing heavily. “Percy, Apollo, to what do I owe this… disastrous visit?” questions Bella, the German Shepherd behind the counter at Fetch! Toys and Treats, an eyebrow raised.

“End of the world. Chicken kibble. Stolen by Ruffians. We need squeakers. STAT,” Apollo pants, barely stringing together sentences, his tongue lolling out.

With a nod that’s all business, Bella tosses us a sack of the finest squeaky-toy distractions. “Good luck,” she says, narrowing her eyes. We rush back out, our mission clear.

Next stop, Shiba Inlet. The Ruffians’ den lies under the shadow of the mighty Kibble Mountain—ironic, isn’t it? My playful spirit momentarily subdued by the enormity of our task. My paws itch for action; curiosity mixed with dashes of trepidation.

“Ruffians, come out!” Apollo barks in his imperious, almost regal tone. His majestic stance is something to behold even when he’s just facing empty air. But gradually, out from the shadows, Ruffians emerge.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Percy and Apollo,” snarls Brutus, their ringleader, eyes glinting with mischief. He wields a squeaky chicken—a trophy of sorts.

“We want our kibble back, Brutus. Hand it over and no one loses their ears,” I growl, hoping my stalwart loyalty to all things chicken-flavored kibble shines through.

“Why should we negotiate?” Brutus chuckles, licking his chops.

“Oh, because I happen to know that Ruffians have a soft spot… for socks,” I whisper bemusedly, pulling out a stripy sock from our emergency stash. Brutus’s eyes widen.

“That’s right, my friend, the genuine article,” Apollo adds, extending the sock towards him as though he were a grizzled diplomat.

“In that case… deal,” Brutus concedes, dropping the sack of stolen kibble.

Apollo and I quickly secure it, and just like that, our tails wagging in unison as we sprint back to Pups’ Poutine, ready to save the night and restore order.

By dawn, the crisis is averted, and as I re-enter my home, tail wagging, an odd satisfaction filling my doggie heart. Mom wouldn’t understand the magnitude of our nightly escapades—how close we came to a kibble catastrophe. But as a loyal, playful, and curious doggo, I know that in Pawsburg, every night holds a new adventure, each wilder than a romp through the city’s spring-loaded laundry baskets.

I paw at my favorite sock before snuggling into my blanket, your claws won’t always scratch off the mud of a crisis, but boy, do they write one heart-pounding adventure.

The End.