Hey Mom! 🐾 Just wanted to bark it out that I helped sniff out a mystery in the park and fetched some serious smiles from our neighbors. Turns out a wagging tail can save the day! Love you lots, The Clodog 🐶❤️

I ain’t one to spin tales outright, but I reckon there’s a story ’bout my time in Spencerville that needs tellin’. They call me Chloe—some might know me as the Clodog, though those who ‘spect something aloof from that moniker don’t rightly know me at all. I’m a Boston Terrier, black and white, with a mind as sharp as a porcupine’s quill. Born on the last day of September in 2006, my senior years found me in the kind of fix a dog from back yonder should never have found herself in. Yes indeed, it was a jail of sorts.

Now, Spencerville weren’t no prison, but Bullmastiff Boardwalk didn’t quite have the liberty of, say, a good mountain hike or chasing tennis balls across the vast park. It’s a tolerable place, don’t get me wrong, filled with furred folks waiting on their humans, biding time in a manner most pleasant. But I had a hankerin’ for freedom more spirited than most.

Our tale unfurls on a warm afternoon, the sun lickin’ Beagle Beach with golden kisses. I’d been sunbathing as I often did, feeling right settled when an idea nipped at me like a persistent flea. If anyone’s gonna find a way to run in the open country or feel the breeze in their ears as they race a car—albeit imaginatively—it’d be this Boston Terrier.

Now, you see, I’d made friends with Abby and Pebbles, fellow travelers OTRB they call it ‘here. Abby had herself a spot of wisdom, and Pebbles had a penchant for shenanigans, which served mighty useful. I confided in them my cunning plan to chase the wide world beyond our perfect little town.

Abby had her eyes set on The Howling Husky Hardware Store—owner being a right bungling Labrador who had more stock of saws than sense. It stood to reason he’d have something to aid in a venture of escape or, at the very least, provide a right distraction. Meanwhile, Pebbles knew someone at The Snooty Snout Boutique who had a way with disguises.

“I reckon if I’m to make my mark on the open road, I’ll need a smart diversion and somethin’ to keep my paws unnoticed,” I told ‘em, my voice low and deliberate.

On the morrow, we set about our plan. While I caused a stir at the Chow Hound Café, losing the scent of grilled beef ribs in the air, Pebbles snuck into the boutique, acquiring a cunning ensemble—an unlikely shade of pink that hid my black and white quite splendidly. Abby, bless her, slipped me a toy saw—small but clever.

Later, as the moon stood watch like a silent sentinel, I began my work. Our little tool was enough to loosen a fence panel near Pug Palace perfectly. The deed was done with the kind of care a mother takes brushing her pup’s fur. Free at last into the moonlit expanse, I felt a joy I hadn’t savored since those mountainside hikes with Mom.

But here’s the twist, friend. This ol’ heart of mine, for all its want of roam, knew Spencerville was where the heart lingered till its owner came a-callin’. My wanderings weren’t a runnin’ away, but a bid to experience the liberty that waits alongside the memory of those I hold dear.

So when dawn broke, casting golden hues upon my voyage, I turned back. I knew true freedom was waiting, not in distant lands but in the waiting arms to come.

And here I rest again, on a bench along Bullmastiff Boardwalk. Chloe the Clodog, adventurous, free, yet waiting faithfully—tennis ball in reach, soul steadfast and unshaken.