Hey, Mum and Dad, it’s Big Sammy. Had an epic day! Finally bested that dreaded basketball, but then Lucy nicked my tennis ball. Went after her, but tripped and lost it. Met Rus and Marley at Bark ‘n’ Roll. Rus had fetched another ball but, you won’t believe it, got a basketball instead! Seems I’m stuck in a bloomin’ comedy. Anyway, got a cookie in the end. Talk tomorrow, love, Sam.

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Despite the veiled cloaks of morning fog, Spencerville came alive early, as is customary. On any given day, my morning, or afternoon – what’s the difference, really? – would begin with a wrestle. A wrestling match with my all-time adversary, the inflated bane of my existence, the despicable basketball. Through trials and tribulations, that round ball of bewilderment has bested me many times, but alas, not today.

The morning’s battle waged fierce and hard. I was lunging, dancing a calculated ballet around the thing, my lips drew into a triumphant bulldog sneer as I heard the satisfying pop and deflation – Victory, at last, was mine!

Accompanying my triumph, Lucy, the eccentric retriever from across my dwelling had developed a fond interest in my tennis ball, something I had vehemently expressed my disapproval of. Invariably, Lucy was unversed in the particulars of ownership and possessive pronouns, it would seem. I was presented with the conundrum. To confront ‘Lucy-the-not-so-understanding’ or savor my hard-earned victory?

I chose the former. Honor bound and tail high, I traversed through ‘Westie Woods’ into ‘Maltese Meadow’. That’s when it happened. Stumbling over what I assumed was an inconspicuous rock, my closest confidante, the tennis ball, tumbled from my mouth. Like a tactical gambit gone awry, there was Lucy, my ball in her mouth, rocketing off to ‘Lower Silver Siberian Summit’. Shaking off the shock, I ran, panting, barking, the chase was on!

As moon replaced the sun, I found myself at Bark ‘n’ Roll, minus one tennis ball. Ordering the fifth round of kibbles to drown the bitter taste of defeat, I espied the unthinkable. Fat Russell, my bulldog brother, strolling in with none other than Lucy! A startling revelation that shook my foundations until Marley, that feisty Pug, nudged me gently.

Between bites of delicious vanilla cookies, Marley muttered, “Lucy shared your tennis ball saga with Russell. He thought it was funny.” Marley paused, grinned, “He fetched another ball…but it seems he might’ve picked the wrong one.”

And there it was, nestled between Fat Russell’s jaw, not my trusty tennis ball but a dreaded, gleaming basketball. The universe, it seemed had a lopsided sense of comedy, with me as the punchline. All I could do was groan. Much like the rest of the day, dessert too left a sour taste. I resign myself to the likelihood of reliving the battle with the basketball, the irksome sphere of inflating perplexity, tomorrow. But with a cookie in hand, and a tale to tell in the gathering dawn, Spencerville seems a little more endearing. After all, who doesn’t enjoy an invigorating saga of battles, chases, and mix-ups, over breakfast?

The End.

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