“Hey Ma, got framed in Spencerville. Bad dog food, even worse company. But fear not, led a pet break from inside the shelter with old tunnel escape plans. Paws up back in town, I’m a free Schnauzer again. Still getting used to Paws on the Grill, though. Miss you! – Handsomest Handsome.”

Listen to the story here.

There I was, Otis, in the fur-buzzing metropolis of Spencerville, a world far from my human mom but as close to heaven a pet could get. My day began as any other, with a hearty serving of Spencerville’s fine canine cuisine – saved for ‘Pooched Potatoes,’ of course – served at our favourite early morning spot, Fur Tacos. Steering clear of vegetables, obviously, a scruffy chap like me had to maintain a certain image.

I took my usual morning stroll along the Lower Golden Gate Gardens, the array of colors in the blooming flowers a stark contrast to my salt and pepper coat. Ah, the downright independence the gardens presented was absolute bliss. Yet as tranquil as the life in Spencerville seemed, a lurking sense of anticipation lay dormant, just like my deflated old basketball back home.

Suddenly a hush fell over the day, something was up, as word buzzed of a local scandal. “Otis, the resilient Mini Schnauzer accused…” the rest of the sentence drowned in a wave of disbelief and turmoil. Could it be? Me, ol’Otis wrongfully blamed for a crime? The thought of it curdled my breakfast. I’d sooner share a chew toy with a cat than fall on the wrong side of the law.

Justice or not, the Spencerville Shelter came looming over me. “They run it like a puppy mill and serve food like Paws on the Grill,” an old hound warned once. I gazed up at the gritty walls enclosing me from my beloved freedom.

For weeks, my existence within the confines felt like I was living a dog’s life, stripped off my independent spirit. I knew I had to concoct a plan, not just for myself but for every innocent fur-ball wrongfully charged. Keep calm and fetch on, I thought, a prankish smile creeping onto my doggy face.

East Pug Palace had a special underground tunnel, dug decades back by a one-eyed bulldog escaping bath-time. Ingenious, right? The plan was simple; a bit of sneaky tunneling, the right distraction, and voila, our very own pet break!

In the stealth of the waning twilight, we orchestrated the plan with the precision of Happy Hounds on a walking spree. As the grand escape unfolded, every woof turned into a whisper, carrying the legend of our heroic endeavor that would echo in the avenues of Pet Shops across Spencerville.

As dawn broke, I found myself on the other side of freedom, a bit rough around the edges but undeterred. The air of Spencerville greeted us with open paws, the whispers of our exploit loud in the morning chill.

From that day onward, we, the troublemakers of Spencerville, were looked at as heroes, reinforcing fidelity and courage, proving that some legends just aren’t born, they are quite literally dug up. And as to me, remember, an old Mini Schnauzer’s spirit is never truly confined, for life always finds a way, and so does a hungry tummy. The Paws on the Grills might not turn out to be too bad after all!

The End.