“Yo, had the wildest day. Napped, then ended up in Pawsburg cuz of mom’s portrait. Rolled with Moose and Ken, found out all chicken’s gone! Tracked it to Ruffles, the chicken-hogging Mayor. All good now, I got my dinner. Brace yourself, the universe works oddly in the sight of a one-eyed Chihuahua like me. Tomorrow, who knows… Broccoli? 🥦 Catch ya in the AM. – Little Man”

Listen to the story here

When you’ve only got one good eye, the world tends to gleam more vibrantly. I know it doesn’t make logical sense, but then, when has life been predictable? Ask Baxter. Alas, you can’t, he’s a dog, but I can definitely vouch for him. We Chihuahuas, you see, have a rather whimsical interpretation of space-time. For example, last Sunday bamboozled us into Monday without a warning.

Baxter’s adventure began that afternoon, with the cicadas lending the summer heat an eerie harmony. The humans settled in for their nap and you could almost hear Baxter’s heart thump a slight tat-tat on the drums of adventure.

As the human snores started to compete with the cicadas, Baxter glanced at his small black and white, one-eyed reflection in the polished kitchen floor. The vacuum, his nemesis, sat coiled in the corner. The multi-legged monstrosity from Canister Major, Baxter was sure. You can’t trust anything that sucks more than it barks.

Baxter stealthily stepped onto the portrait of his mother, triggering the portal to Pawsburg. His coat swirled, fluttering like a Dalmatian in a blender. And whoosh! He landed on the sunny banks of Retriever River.

Skirting around Western Labradoodle Lake, he joined Moose, a husky with the appetite of a black hole and Kennedy, a poodle who was convinced every fire hydrant was a government spy. Routine investigation, as it were. East Pug Palace seemed unusually quiet. Baxter sniffed it out. At Sniff ‘n’ Snack, the Chicken au Gravy was missing. The sacrilege! Reaching under his collar, Baxter whipped out his lamb chop plushie – a scanner in disguise.

Next stop was The Bone Appetit. Chef Pugsley shrugged, displaying an empty chicken crate. Baxter sighed. Skimming Chow Hound Café yielded the same result. A city-wide chicken shortage was not to provoke panic, but intense contemplation and radical action. Hence, they headed to The Pooch Playhouse. The stage was set; the players, assembled.

Hours into console gaming (another strange quirk of Pawsburg), Moose suddenly barked in realization. He pointed towards Woof and Whisker Wellness Center that doubled as the meat store. Baxter, raising an eyebrow ridge, bounced into his investigation vehicle – a squeaky rubber chicken.

“Chicken, in paws!” Mayor Ruffles’ voice echoed around the East Pug Palace’s throne room as he surrendered to the trio. The missing chicken was a result of his uncontrolled gastronomy — a pug’s trait, he claimed. Chicken reinstated, they modelled themselves in front of The Pawfect Training Center for the local barkarazzi.

Back home, tucked safe and sound in his mother’s lap, Baxter gobbled up his chicken, a hero’s dinner. He knew tomorrow held another adventure, perhaps one that might entail rain or broccoli. But until then, he’d battle sunlight for his snooze.

An ordinary day, you might say. But in the life of a one-eyed zebra-Chihuahua debugging Pawsburg, ordinary is a notion best left to vacuums.

The End.