“Heyya! It’s Boomer, your fav bullmastiff. Tried to find my stolen toy w/ nut-job Nutty and cryptic Whiskers. Turns out, heists and baths scare me equally. Went ahead anyway, had pizza and a laugh. PB breath aside, it’s a doggone good day! Oh, and squirrel pandemonium is a thing? Who knew! 😂🐶”

Listen to the story here

In the dim lamp light of crafted dusk, Pawsburg swirled in a whirl of alive hues, twitching tails and soft whiskers. I’m sure you’re wondering, how did a dignified and rational bullmastiff like myself, Boomer, end up in a canine coup d’état of downtown Canine Couture Clothing?

See, the saga began at the heart of Pawsburg. You know, there’s a peculiar charm about Bullmastiff Boardwalk at night, with its soft, glowing street lights like constellations fashioned into street lamps. My companions on this journey? Nutty, the disconcertingly overzealous squirrel always one second away from a caffeine overdose, and old Whiskers, one paw in stoicism and the other in the afterlife.

You see, my blue-studded rubber chew toy, that one thing that made my Brooklyn life worth living, had mysteriously vanished. I was pretty sure it was no Brooklyn heist; I mean, who’d be wicked enough to steal something so profoundly dear to your heart other than a careless pet product manufacturer?

We were going to rent a detective movie and do our own chew-toy search, but then we realized none of us could operate a DVD player. So, a heist seemed the most reasonable course of action. We decided to hit the Canine Couture Clothing. They were evidently expanding into toys, but we suspected there was a chew-toy racketeering operation in the back.

First stop was the Chow Hound Café, our regular haunt. We needed sustenance, and while they surely didn’t serve peanut butter, the Pup-Tastic Pizza wasn’t a bad compromise either.

As we donned our trench coats and fedoras, Whiskers shot me a skeptical glance, his yellow eyes a mirror of impending doom – or indigestion, it was hard to say with him. Nutty swallowed his last pizza crust, running up his own tail in a flurry of anticipation.

“Calm down there, Nutty. You’re gonna pop a nut,” I barked, a slight amusement stirring my rigid composure. And Whiskers, oh, his cryptic smirk made you instinctively second guess every life choice you’ve ever made.

Painted across the brick-red backdrop of my elaborate plan was a detail I’d conveniently left out. Every victim of a heist needs a redeeming quality, right? Well, mine was my abominable fear of baths, an Achilles’ heel if you will, all the more amusing because it was fully exploited by the villain of our tale.

And so here we were, poised for operation raincoat mayhem, donning our disguises, peanut butter on my breath, Nutty in a state of squirrel pandemonium, and Whiskers wondering how he lost all his nine lives and got stuck with us.

Oh, the adventure that awaited us! But remember, chaos always has startling clarity in retrospective assessment, with a pinch of humor rolling off the tongue, especially if that tongue belongs to a hefty, peanut-butter-loving bullmastiff named Boomer.

The End.