“Hey Mom,

Crazy day in paradise. Unjustly blamed for stealing hot dogs from the Bone Appetit. No way, right?! Tried to talk myself out. Failed. Now at the shelter (ugh!). A breakout’s brewing, all while I play innocent with my stuffed turtle. Gotta love Spencerville life, where every day’s a sitcom. No cabbage was harmed, promise.

Paws and justice,
Oats”

They say Spencerville was born out of legends – tall tales about pets shacking up in a near Utopian existence after crossing the rainbow bridge. This ‘Doggy Paradise’ as they call it, was my home and I loved every quirky corner of it. Mix in a dose of Neil Simon-esque camaraderie and you got a story that would make for a solid sitcom.

It was another day at Western Labradoodle Lake, sun gleaming off the clear water, ducks hijacking unsuspecting picnics. And, there I was, a salt and pepper colored Schnauzer called Otis. Zest personified. Some would say my hardiness was nothing but sheer stubbornness, but buddy, I was as independent as a dog could get in Spencerville.

In between gnawing at my deflated basketball, the greatest treasure I’d found so far, and stealing sips from my Paw-A-Latte, I heard an alarming ruckus. The city was accusing me – the most loyal canine in all Spencerville – of the most unthinkable crime, stealing food from The Bone Appetit.

“Otis, mate, you’re being blamed for munching those juicy hot-dogs,” Barney whispered, a hint of worry in his usually nonchalant four-year-old cocker spaniel demeanor. They’d taken to calling me “Hot Dog Heist hound.”

Aghast, I said, “But I wouldn’t, couldn’t! Hot-dogs? I would have pilfered vegetables just to bury them all over the place again! Damn those cabbages and their leafy green existence.”

“Well, it’s either the shelter or a guilty plea, mate.”

A shiver ran through me. A breed like me, with a squirrel-chasing heart and a cat-aggravating nose, the idea of being confined within four high metal walls was petrifying. A salt and pepper rebel like me belonged in the wild, open air of Spencerville.

“There’s got to be a way out,” I groaned. “Remember how I got into the Pampered Pooch Salon after hours? If I could do that, breaking out of a dog pound should be easy.”

And so, the planning began. Spencerville was about to witness its first ever “Pet Break” and I was in the lead. With a steadfast determination only a Mini Schnauzer like me could muster, I planned to prove my innocence, all while nibbling on my stuffed turtle, naturally.

This was Spencerville, and unfortunate delivery guys, cat drama, and now, breaking out of the animal shelter is all part of the deal. This wasn’t just about me, Otis. This was about every pet in Spencerville, about finding loop-holes, bending the rules, for paws, fur, and justice. After all, life can toss you a bone when you least expect it!

The End.