- Dog Tales
- October 8, 2023
Fenway PawWord Story
“Morning, paw-rents! Spent my day solving Millie’s leaf heist and dodging baths like a pro. Must admit, almost fell for tennis ball trick, but standing firm on my no-bath policy. Solving pet crimes n evading suds are tough, but Spencerville’s worth it! Catch u at The Fetching Deli? – Fenny”
“Morning light spilled over Spencerville like a dawning of golden bird feathers, painting the city, one that I found myself proudly calling home, in hues of honey and apricot. Fenway, brave as knights in olden times, and with charm that would put Casanova to shame, bounded up from his beauty sleep and gives the day a frosty stare. His nature, ever sunny like a mid-summer noontime, was as infectious as supposedly those leg-warmers that Barkely keeps sporting. “Don’t ask me why he does that, seems to get his kicks out of it.”
We were relieved of our usual morning patrol, but the city’s pets weren’t about to give us a day off. As they say, ‘trouble follows you, like a lost puppy who thinks you smell like ham.’ Millie had lost her precious leaf collection, a crime as heinous as serving a catnip smoothie in Fawn Cream Maltese Meadow, strictly a ‘doggos only’ pub.
Now, we were stuck between playing Sherlock Bones and trying to get Fenway to take a bath. Both were epic battles of wits and wills, each with its distinct ability to throw life as we knew it in Spencerville out the window.
“Fenway, you have smelt better,” I said, wrinkling my nostrils and gesturing towards the tub filled with warm water and a no-tears promise. A grunt, a sniff and a huffy ‘nope,’ was the bald dismissal we were met with.
Undeterred, I tempted him with a brand-new tennis ball from Pet Partners Pet Supplies. A spark of interest flared in his eyes before it was squelched by his stubborn pride.
Negotiations had to be put on hold as Biggie burst into our yard, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Guys, gather round. I have found the culprits behind Millie’s lost leaves!”
Capital, Kid. We would be onto them like fleas on a stray tomcat. With a glance at Fenway, and an unforgettable eye-roll of solidarity over the saga of his bath-time skulduggery, I set foot into the golden Spencerville morning. Another blessedly absurd day in pet paradise was just beginning.”
And so it continued, our oh-so ordinary life of semi-functional pet detectives, ever ready to lock paws with the latest canine conundrums and the eternal trials of Fenway’s bath-time. The memory of chicken-flavoured dollar cookies was enough to have us all salivating in anticipation for what the day and The Fetching Deli had in store. We yawned and swung into another endlessly amusing routine, as natural to us as a squirrel was to a chase; it was another day in does-not-need-saving-because-we-have-got-it-sorted Spencerville.
The End.
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