Hey, it’s Miss B! So here’s the doggone gist: Pawsburg smelled of cucumbers (ugh) which sent our canine cabaret packing. This left me, Fuzzy, and Wednesday to fetch out the fiasco. All ends well, as it was a leaky cucumber spa crate. All’s well now; Back to barking big for bones at Deli. Whoof – Ms. B.

Listen to the story here

Let me tell you, when the moon’s reached the zenith and Pawsburg springs into action, your assumptions of an ordinary dog’s life crumble into nothingness. It’s no different for our small-sized heroine, Ms. Beasley. Life carries on as usual during the day, but dusk is when the magic of Pawsburg unveils itself.

On one such twilight night, I found myself trekking behind Ms. Beasley through the coiling trails of Dalmatian Desert. Pawsburg was brimming with a blanket of stars that ricocheted off her chestnut coat in a gentle shimmer. We were heading to the Fetching Deli – a goldmine for our canine friends. Mind you, the noise was deafening, laughs were costless, and bones were crunchy. I was prepared for another regular riot-filled night of barely decipherable barks and canine capers, cantering in the footsteps of the sprightly Chihuahua towards our usual hangout.

But Pawsburg, my dear friend, won’t be Pawsburg if it didn’t challenge your expectations. As we walked into the Fetching Deli, the air was thick with an eerie silence. Even the ever-obnoxious Wednesday, who was always ready with some sly comment, was morose. Things were far from normal, even Fuzzy’s fluffy tail seemed to have lost its usual bounce.

“I smell cucumbers,” whispered Ms. Beasley, her voice muffled with alarm. That was when the oddity struck me. The entire town, known for its chaotic charm, was in the clutch of an unnatural quiet and the faint aroma of… cucumbers. You know Ms. Beasley isn’t one to stick around in the presence of cucumbers; she despises those green, cylinder nightmares.

A quick swirl indicated that the Fetching Deli was as deserted as the Labradoodle Lake during a drought. Not a dog in sight. The last we saw of civilization, or rather, dog-vilization, was back at Black Bulldog Bay, where a beyond-confused French bulldog was barking at his own reflection. But that’s a tale for another evening.

We understood then, that we, the vigorous trio from Belmore lane, were the only souls left undeterred by this curious cloud of cucumber, this malodorous mystery. It was down to us, Ms. Beasley, Wednesday, and Fuzzy to sniff out this strange occurrence.

We left the Deli, the air hung with uncertainty. Have you ever seen a normally bustling dog town silenced by a smell? And of cucumbers, at that? The very thought of it, even in hindsight, sends tremors down my spine.

We spent the rest of the night tip-toeing around Pawsburg, retracing our steps, sniffing for clues. Wouldn’t you know, the source of that ill-scented intrusion was a leaky shipment of cucumbers from The Dapper Dog Salon, where they use them for their infamous ‘Spa Spots’ treatment! The poor delivery dog from Kibble Cuisine had accidentally left open the delivery door, causing the scent to spread across Pawsburg, resulting in a mass furry exodus.

Once cucumber-chaos was unveiled, the thumping heart of Pawsburg slowly returned to its boisterous rhythm.

As we walked towards the lake, Ms. Beasley produced her little red, squeaky ball from the folds of her coat, and for the remaining part of that night, we played fetch as the moonlight danced on Labradoodle Lake.

Well, dear Friend, in Pawsburg, every night is a curious tale, and every tail has a tale to wag about! And I, privileged to trot by Ms. Beasley’s side, get to live these tales.

The End.

Share This Story: