“Hey Mom! Splendid day in Spencerville! Nearly pulled off mega-heist at Canine Couture for a Big Mac (Yum!). Pearl was the brain, I was the muscle. Yeah, still not a fan of delivery folk or noisy kids. But you know, Spencerville tales are our tales. Big Macs and heists, ’tis all love and longing. Miss ya, catch ya soon! – Your Sophie girl.”

Listen to the story here.

In the verdant utopia known as Spencerville, where dreams come charmingly alive amidst snug boutiques and canine cafes, one story echoes louder than the others, the undying legend of Sophie, the English Bulldog.

“Listen!” I’d plead, perched high above the glittering Fawn Cream Maltese Meadow. “This isn’t your run-of-the-mill, nab a squeaky bone from Doggy Depot type of jape, this…this is spree! A mega-heist! Pull this off, and we’d be dining on Big Macs every day, my dear friends.”

Nestled in the comfort of my elegant white coat, I’d reckon my vivacious companions, Lil Dot and Fat Russel, would have never seen a better leader. Pity, I feel for those shifty-eyed folks delivering parcels, as they remain forever uninformed of my grand plans.

For what would an adventurer be without a challenge worthy of her title? Our setting: Canine Couture Clothing, a veritable fortress of doggy delights, swanky costumes, and savory treats-one dangerously tomato laden. It was a price I was willing to risk, for my beloved Big Mac was just within grasp.

“Alright, you lot,” I’d glance over to the stuffed duck, clutching it in my paw as if it were the key to breaking in. Inaudibly, yet poignantly, it reminded me of the joys, the mirth, the laughter, I had experienced in this precious haven of Spencerville. I firmly believed it held a semblance of fortune that would lead us victorious.

Pearl, my doting sister, would share knowing glances. She was the brains behind my zany enthusiasm indeed. It was comforting to have her by my side. Together, we weren’t mere dogs; we were an alliance. An alliance that sat amicably each evening at The Bone Appetit recalling the day’s exploits and planning new escapades.

As I orchestrated the heist, fueled by an unacknowledged dislike for small noisy humans but stirred by the promising scent of french fries, I would often get paused by a familiar emotion. The emotion that smelled of home, of loved ones expecting our return. I believed they were watching, waiting, hoping for the day when our paths met again. Nonetheless, until then, life was about Big Macs and impossible heists. Life was a grand escapade.

That’s the thing about Spencerville; it’s a place where our stories can be as grand as we desire, stitched together with the fabric of love, longing and the certainty of reunion. The legend of our daring doggy heist wasn’t about the pursuits we undertook; it was about us, the heroes waiting to embrace our owners again. It was a story as unique as our bond, our quirks and our indisputable aversion to delivery folk. It was a story that just so happened to start with “Listen!” in the heart of a nearly perfect place called Spencerville.

The End.