“Hey, served Bob a dish of defeat at Upper Black Bulldog Bay tonight. Used his kryptonite, a fetch ball, to topple his ego right in the street! Mega lols all around Pawsburg. All I can say, no chicken thief crosses Wally Bear without a taste of sweet revenge. Tail wags, WB.”

Listen to the story here

Well, here I am, Wally Bear, another regular night in Pawsburg. The town is filled with the hum of nocturnal dealings, and I have a bone to pick – no, not my favorite rubber bone – a score to settle.

The incident ties back to last week when Bob, the bossy Boxer from Brindle Brown Boxer Beach, thought it was funny to snatch my grilled chicken treat during lunch at Chow Down Chow Chow. The audacity of him! The tantalizing whiff of my succulent treat, replaced by the foul smell of his mocking grin. Vainglorious Bob, with his tail wagging, thumping the ground rhythmically, showing off in front of his posse of pugs. Comical, isn’t it? That I, Wally Bear, have my honor and chicken challenged by the likes of Bob.

Not if I can help it, Bob.

Tonight, dear reader, our rendezvous is none other than the Upper Black Bulldog Bay. Evan, Tyler, Logan, and Emily have long nodded off to dreamland. Pawsburg was mine to explore, and revenge was my mission. The lights of Bark and Bites reflected in the tranquil water of the bay, creating a twinkling spectacle that reminded me of the sparkle I yearned to see in Bob’s eyes – the sparkle of realization, the sparkle of defeat.

I spotted him near The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium, surrounded by his followers. The smell of tuna fish wafted in the air, replacing the earlier rustic scent of the bay. My nose turned, not particularly enjoying this scent. With a deep breath, I puffed up my broad chest and pattered towards them.

“Bob,” my voice echoed in the hushed quiet of Pawsburg night, the bulldog bay amplifying my voice. Bob turned, and his mocking grin transformed into a scowl. The pugs around him yelped and whimpered, scattering in different directions.

“Time for a round of fetch, Bob,” I challenged, my voice holding a promise of reprisal.

Raiding the Pawsitively Purrfect Pet Store, tossing out toys with a swift flick of my paw, I found it – a rubber ball, the bane of Bob’s existence. The growl of satisfaction echoed in the stillness. Flinging the ball towards Bob, I watched as the surprise registered in his eyes, followed by an attempt to catch it. But alas! Bob, a lover of munching treats and not fetch games, tripped over his own feet, sprawling out in front of The Pampered Pooch Salon.

Laughter erupted from the bay to the Lower Silver Siberian Summit. Bob tried to regain his footing, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment – his posse of pugs disappeared.

As I trotted back home, satisfied, the town of Pawsburg returning to its peaceful slumber, I reveled in my victory. With a broad bulldog smile, I knew Bob would think twice before crossing paths with Wally Bear.

The moral of this tale, as they say, is not about the bone you chew, but the backbone that you restore. My friends might be asleep, but no boxer bully would rob Wally Bear from the deep satisfaction of his almost spiritual communion with grilled chicken. Not on my watch, Bob!

The End.