Hey there,

It’s Waffles, your clandestine canine, checking in from Pawsburg. A heady blend of twilight adventure and mouth-watering mysteries today. Teased taste buds at Fetch-N-Bites, flinched at a Hoover encounter, and now sniffing out some eerie business in town. Pawsburg’s going quiet and the detective in me roars to life. Remember, the game’s always afoot, and a well-roasted turkey makes it even better!

Catch ya on the flip side!

-Warm Woofs, Waffles.

Listen to the story here

As I laced into the shadows of night, away from the comforting glow of my suburban home, I, oddly enough, felt invincibly alive.

“Pawsburg awaits, old chap,” I muttered to myself, my heart squeezing at the thought of my furry friends, palpitating with excitement.

Lost in the hum and hustle of my human world, a nightly retreat to Pawsburg was my well-earned respite. Lights fluttered on atop Silver Siberian Summit just as I ambled into the town. The fat moon sneaked a peek through a cloud, casting a dazzling sheen on Labradoodle Lake where Biscuit, the talkative Golden Retriever, often dove for squashed balls- tennis or otherwise.

“We’re running late, Waffles’, came a familiar voice “Drop the soliloquies and dig in”. The famed Fetch-N-Bites was heaving, overflowing with gastronomic delights. Now, I am often called a gourmand by humans who catch the smoky whiff of turkey from my breath. As the chefs lined trays of roasted turkey on the counter, ignoring the horrifying bunch of celery, I could barely contain my doggy joy. “Enough with the celery-hate, old pal!” harrumphed Pickles, that snobbish Persian cat who, loathe admit it I would, had grown on me.

A refreshing snooze later, we found ourselves huddled at The Pawsome Pet Pharmacy, stocked with the good, the bad, and the cursed. I shuddered involuntarily as the dreaded vacuum cleaner came into view. “Waffles and hoovers…never saw that coming,” chuckled Pickles, doing her best to stifle her laughter at the sight of my discomfort. But today’s discomfort was more than the usual Hoover dread. Something was off.

As the day drew to a close, and the last rays of the setting dusk began to kiss Pawsburg goodbye, a peculiar scenario unfolded before my eyes. The streets were oddly quiet; The Pampered Pooch Salon was uncharacteristically deserted, and an eerie shadow seemed to creep over Western Fawn Pug Palace. Something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t put my paw on it. Yet.

As we retired to the comforting warmth and privacy of Waffles’ Den, the local investigator in me growled to life. It was time to don another hat, that of a detective.

Biscuit, Pickles and I had a game to catch. There was a slight chill in the air, the kind that bundled up your senses, and Pawsburg, our Pawsburg, was unwinding a mystery. Tonight was the night, an evening that promised a blend of serenity, adventure and well-roasted turkey, right in my favorite town. And, by the tail of all dogs, I was ready.

The End.