Hey Dad, 🐾

Limited time, ruff business afoot. 🕵️‍♂️ Remember that whole ‘vanishing mail’ situation? Decided to tackle it myself. 📩💥 Not your everyday fetch, but Spencerville needs me. Promise it’s not a raid on the fridge this time. 😅 Extra kibble wouldn’t hurt though, just in case.

Stay fierce. Stand tall for us in Spencerville. We’re a team, no matter the miles. That lettuce incident? Child’s play compared to this.

Here’s to surviving this “tiny” covert political mission. 🍻🐶 Hold down the fort.

Missing you.

Perce 🐾

I remember the day Percy and I parted ways. He was giving me those brimming, expectant eyes. You know, the ones he usually played on when he was about to dart towards the forbidden cityscape or the despised vacuum cleaner. Only this time, the stakes were substantially higher.

“Listen, Percy,” I rumbled, rain pattering off the windowpane, “This isn’t exactly a hiking trip or a clandestine raid on the fridge.”

His ice-cold, mischievous eyes bored into mine, and within seconds we were wrapped in our usual argumentative dance, which we danced so often that I swear we could’ve won ‘So You Think You Can Dance – The Dog and Owner Edition.’

“Deliveries don’t just vanish, Perc,” I exclaimed, rocking back in my cushy armchair. Our rustic abode in Spencerville felt unusually uneasy tonight.

“You don’t like the postal workers, and yet they’re dropping off these top-secret envelopes at Boxer Beach and Red Beagle Beach. To think they’d use our trusted Fetch-N-Bites and Doggy Depot as fronts for their espionage activities!”

Percy’s ears perked up at the mention of our beloved haunts. I could almost envision him strolling through our favorite hiking paths, sampling the best treats from Bone Appetit, and dunking himself into North Chihuahua Castle’s clear waters.

“But, Percy,” I continued, “This dangerous task… I can’t ask you to do it.”

Percy responded with an obstinate woof, quivering with such determined energy that it felt like a verbalized ‘Bring it on.’ A fire danced in his glistening orbs. I knew him all too well.

“You sure. Partner?” I breathed, patting the space beside me on the plaid sofa. With a surge of reassurance, Percy darted, his handsome coat shimmering in the dying twilight and his comforting weight supplying the courage I needed.

“Alright,” I whispered into Percy’s silky, perked up ears, “I’m counting on you. They have to learn, they can’t just bluff around with our Spencerville!” Percy’s tail wagged in unison with each syllable of our mission.

Life without Percy’s charismatic spirit felt desolate. He was adventuring into a perilous world of espionage. Out there, amidst all the political subterfuge, was my Percy – cheeky, loyal, and more than just a dog to me. Yet, I knew Percy would be alright. Because, as he once stole a head of lettuce from my fridge and tried to make it palatable, he could survive a teeny-weeny covert political mission.

With Spencerville as our creed and Percy, my confidant, we kept the spirit alive. We were, after all, not just dog and master. We were partners, best friends, adventuring through life, one perilous political mission at a time.

The End.