Hey Mom! So, I’ve been quite the little hero lately. Led my humans out of that sticky situation with the squirrels’ treasure map (turns out they just hide snacks everywhere ). Anyhow, saved the day with my trusty nose and wagging tail. All in a day’s work for your favorite beagle detective! Love, Daisy Mae Marie Antoinette

Well now, ain’t this a fix I’d never fancy. Here I am, Daisy—Daisy Mae Marie Antoinette, that is—slipped right into Spencerville not long ago, thereabouts I suspect because none of you fine folks have had occasion to miss me terribly just yet. I reckon I ought to spin you a yarn about how a good-natured Boxer came to be ensnared in such a predicament as mine own, right here in this almost-too-perfect patch of canine heaven.

First off, let’s get this straight, I ain’t no cookie thief, not nohow. I mean, sure, back on earth I’d nose around the kitchen and help myself to the odd morsel from Strider or Gunner’s plate, provided they weren’t paying much mind. But that’s natural curiosity—good-natured mischief at most. So imagine my surprise when I find myself mistakenly accused of pilfering treats down at The Woofy Bakery, where they reckon some rascal’s been sneakin’ in, sampling the snausages after hours.

Now you see, truth be told, I found it downright peculiar being in a place like Spencerville where time feels all stretchy and laid-back like a sunbathing morning, but rules are still rules. Not a soul believes a dog as loyal and affectionate as myself would be sneaking about after dark. But there’s Skipper the Schnauzer saying he saw a brindle blur ‘round the shelves—imagine that! So, quick as you please, I found myself in the clutches of the Spencerville Shelter, being judged by them who sit markin’ down crimes by bark and bite.

Reckon it’s hard to prove one’s innocence when biscuits and bones are the spoils, so I sat in my little pen a-thinkin’ and a-plottin’. I had no fancy for being away from the grand places here: no Husky Hill mornings or beach runs on Brindle Brown Boxer Beach while thinking of my humans—Mom, in particular, always fond of our jaunts by the waves.

Well sir, ain’t no time to dawdle when liberty’s at stake. I sidled over to Baxter, the big ol’ bulldog they’d put next to me, and swapped a plan or two over the fence. He’d been witness to many a breakout, with a mind sharp enough and a build that could buffalo through any door needed. “You just wiggle that smart noggin’ of yours, Daisy, and I’ll do the heavy liftin’,” he said, words like pure poetry to a pooch in a bind.

So, we bided our time, and from the cacophony of little howls and whimpers that rose like a symphony each evening, a voice said, “Now!” With Baxter bustin’ through the barrier and me alongside him as sleek and quick as a laser pointer chase, we zipped past Kibble Cuisine and out into the meandering streets of freedom—that rich mixture of scents and sounds of a world laid out proper for joyful exploration.

We finally cleared our names with a dash of cunning—Skipper’s spectacles had fogged up, it seems—and before long, I was back loungin’ by the sea, frolicsome and free once more. Reflecting on the escapade, I reckon my grandest comfort lay in being there, ever-awaiting the sweet days when my humans would join me here in Spencerville, where every rainbow leads you to a dance by the water’s edge and every sunbeam feels like a warm hug from home.

Guess I never was too far gone after all, especially with liveliness tucked into my soul as warm as a blanket. And ain’t that the truth of it?