“Hey Old Man, just cookin’ up a late-night heist at Pooch Playhouse with the gang – ur fav Benny, Lola, and loud-nose Jax. Target? Lifetime supply of steakbones, zero celery involved. If we get caught, pretend ur surprised. If not, expect a bone-shaped invite to Bow Wow Burgers. Paws crossed, tail wagging, wish us luck! – Spencerville Bone Bandit 🐾”

Listen to the story here.

All right, friends and fellow interspecies compatriots. Let’s dish, shall we? Let’s talk about this wild, outsized, bone-laden game we’re planning. Yeah, you heard right. The big one – the local ma-and-pa store down at Pooch Playhouse, where the toys squeak louder, the bones run larger, and the kibble tastes like the delicacies from ‘dad’s Sunday table.

So, here’s how it pans out. Downtown Spencerville, pretty as a postcard picture, bathed in the half-light of the moon and stars. With us – me, Benny from the lane, Lola from the bakery and that lugnut Jax – plotting our midnight march against the institution that holds our deepest, most passionate desires.

“Jax, your sniffer’s the ticket.” Botched-up Beagle that he is, boy’s got a nose like a bloodhound on steaks- or is that bone. “Lola, we need your grace under pressure.” Lady’s light on the paws, edge dance through a thunderstorm—cue me shuddering in deep dark corners—and come out looking like a show girl. “Benny, you’re the muscle.” Even his bark can make a full-grown Shepherd shake in his boots.

We’d meet up at Western Labradoodle Lake – which I swear to you has zero Labradoodles but plenty of places to hide. It was here, under the cover of the dark, our plan would unravel. Down to Shepherd Skyline, the poorly lit alley that served undeniably as our gateway to the Pooch Playhouse.

And me? Well, I’m the brains, the heart, the very marrow of this operation. ‘Cause when the prize is a lifetime supply of steak bones, well honey. I’d spearhead a pet revolution faster than you can say ‘drop it’.

Bow Wow Burgers will be our victory party place, we can order the Leg n’ Loin Surprise. All the steak bones we could desire. Oh, it will be a masterpiece of carnivorism. Saving every toothy adventure, every splendid, juicy taste for future recall.

However, the thought of sneaky celery adding its unsavory flavor to our efforts has been haunting me. Do you know what celery is, mates? It’s a cruel joke punctuated by nature herself. It’s the color of spring, but it tastes like it’s been left in the garden for too long, under the disdainful glare of the summer sun. It’s like nature fooled us, promising something bursting with zesty flavor, but delivering a tasteless crunch instead. Deceptively green, hideously flavorless – that’s celery for you.

But all that fades away when the palate-changing game’s afoot. No rotten celery could ruin our victory sprint through Spencerville, my glorious compatriots. The stakes are high, our spirits higher, and should we fail, we live to fight another tennis ball chasing day.

I’ve got my paws crossed, my whiskers at attention, and my tail wagging a symphony of anticipation. So, dear friends, here’s to our daring heist– to the glory, the bones, and the stories we’ll tell. This is no Spencerville bedtime story, it’s our edible rebellion. So here, here to us, the pet villains of Spencerville – our own, mouthwatering Money Heist.

The End.