“Planned a heist last night at the Doggy Depot with Jim. Our crew created diversions all over Spencerville to keep folks distracted. Pulled it off without a hitch, whole town’s chattering about it now. Just another day in the life of Fasty! 🐾🦴”

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There I was one day, staring at my throne, Russ, the bulldog that I am, puttering about; the plastic golf balls winking at me from the floor. Regular day in Spencerville, one might call it. But then, in my particularly adventurous heart, I felt a major change was imminent. It was Jim who first brought up the idea. Jim, cheeky sprite, with eyes as big as the Retriever River and a spirit harder to contain than the bounces of my beloved golf balls.

“The Doggy Depot,” he whispered with a grin, ignoring his apple sauce breakfast – I always knew the stuff was disgusting.

“What about it?” I asked, perked up by the words, for the Doggy Depot was our local hangout, a toy haven for furry folks like Jim and me.

“We’re going to raid it. Tonight,” he declared, a twinkle in his eye that I couldn’t unsee.

An incredulous grin on my face, I asked, “Why Jim, and how?” Of all the places in Spencerville, why the Doggy Depot?

Jim had a glint in his eyes, which could mean only one thing – he’d had a bone-pick with the store’s imposing delivery-person. I groaned inwardly; misgivings and such, I had my fair share, but I decided to humour Jim. From Greyhound Grove to Lower Silver Siberian Summit, we went around gathering our trusted paws. We were met with excited barks, wag-on-tails approval and a collective resistance to being rained out.

What we needed was a plan. The best I had to offer came straight from my frequent rounds of the Kibble Cuisine: A diversion. We’d play tricks and pranks on the folks at the Ruff-n-Ready, the Dog-gone Good BBQ and all around, while the rest of us pilfered from the Doggy Depot.

I figured, why not have a bit of thrill? “Alright, Jim, I’m in.” I told Jim, and his joy knew no bounds. I felt a twinge of excitement too, visions of toy mountains in our yard a pleasant thought.

The day seemed ordinary as any, but by the time Spencerville’s sun set, we were ready for our escapade. Our anyone-for-a-bone laughter reverberated across the whole of Spencerville. Leaving our comfy homes, the air was thick with excitement for the plan, the sweet but mischievous, contrived playfulness.

The night passed in a blur of wagging tails, tinkering dog-tags and a storm of canine camaraderie. The morning dawned to a stainless Doggy Depot, without a pawprint in sight. Our morning strolls, still as much a society topic as our raid, left Spencerville in wonder. Through the commotion, all their eyes saw was just another day in the extraordinary life of Russ, the English bulldog.

The End.