“Hey pals, Dotty Delinquent here! Nearly slung my spots in the clink over false theft charges. Poodle Pond to Westie Woods, no fun. But you know me, escaped Pawsburg’s big canine house with a chew-tech nudge-n-dig trick. The legends bark about, all true. The spots are back in town. PS: If you find my chew-tug, send a bark. 🦴🐾🔓”

Listen to the story here

Naturally, with my esteemed reputation and dashing spots, life flowed smoother than a squirrel’s getaway until that bonkers booking at the Pawsburg Animal Shelter. The rumours were true: Pawsburg at night was a charming sanctuary, our own canine Camelot if you will. When Billy snoozed, it was my cue to hop along to Pawsburg to hang with my pawsome pals.

From Eastern White Westie Woods to South Poodle Pond, accompanied by my motley bunch of vagabonds, Pawsburg was our red-carpeted world. We’d schmooze over snooty bowls of Furrific Fried Chicken at The Barkery after wild chases. Evenings were abuzz with witty banter at Canine Café, where the flap books from The Wagging Tail Bookstore transformed into story-spinning sessions.

Until that off-kilter night. Falsely accused of filching the town’s prized doggy cookie trophy, my ‘loyal-rascal’ persona transformed into a ‘dotty-delinquent’ in an instant. Ginger was in hysteria, Truffles was prematurely graying, and Alma, oh, Alma was preparing her head-tilt eulogy. I was marched into the Pawsburg Animal Shelter, the clink for canine criminals.

I’m no criminal; I’m a Dalmatian with a flair for stubborn stains and an epic aversion to cucumbers, for dog’s sake. “Fetch! Toys and Treats”, my favorite shop, all of a sudden turned into the melancholic reminder of the chew-tug I was being denied. The only thing that made prison bearable? The cheese. Yes, the cheese from Bark ‘n’ Roll shack. It’s diarylicious and I am, undoubtedly, the dairy King.

You see, there were, let’s say, disagreements with my gang over the escape plan. Ginger suggested an elaborate plot involving cucumber decoys and diversion. Alma proposed a calculated slip-through via the kennels, and Truffles… well, Truffles just wanted to sleep. But I knew better: It was time for a “Pet Break.”

With a chew toy and an audacity that only a dog wrongfully accused could muster, the plan set into motion. A firm nudge here, a covert dig there, and voilà: the phantom Dalmatian was out and about. Like the jets in Billy’s bathtub, I was launched into a daring escape beneath the Golden Gate Gardens, barking a sweet, soon-to-be legendary song of freedom.

Oh, Pawsburg, your underbelly has never tasted more like victory and mud pies. The game’s on, old friend. The dots are back in town. The legends they bark about have just begun.

The End.