Hey there, it’s Bailey a.k.a. Tail-Waggin’ Trouble Fixer. Max went missing, causing an all-paws-on-deck situation. Searched Pawsburg high ‘n low, combed across the Poodle Pond, the Beagle Beach, you name it. Finally found the rascal at Canine Couture Clothing! Trapped in some feathered monstrosity – had to topple a few fedoras to set him free. All safe now, and I’m off to reward myself with my all-time favourite red ball. Pawsburg remains hatless & happy, and this dedicated Border Collie is ready for the next adventure. Woof and out, Bailey.

Listen to the story here

Bloody ‘ell – I tell you, life’s a tail-waggin’ spectacle in Pawsburg, a Capra-esque wonder hidden from the bleary eyes of humans. Life here, it’s not just a licks-a-poppin’ pleasure, but a whirlwind of doggy drama. Get this – last night, our beloved Max – the Dalmatian of distinction – vanished into thin yapping air. Quite unnerving, I’ll tell you.

So, here I am. Bailey. No hats, only heroes, remember? Groan as the cogs in this Border Collie brain start churning, my black and white coat nothing more than an abstract blur as I dart around the fur-endly Pawsburg; it’s a wonder I didn’t turn into Flaming trailing smoke signals.

First stop – South Poodle Pond. The yippity-yap yap haven for Pawsburg’s high society. Not Max’s usual haunt, but no stone unturned, or in this context, no mud unsplashed. Empty. Well, save for the usual poodle posh.

Spotted Red Beagle Beach next. Nothing but canines basking in the warm sun, wagging, napping – no Max. Greyhound Grove equally a Max-free zone – just greyhounds shooting around in a sight to behold. At Chow Down Chow Chow, a sign read “Closed for Nap Time.” Pooched Potatoes, same thing. Waggle n’ Wok, swept clean. Crumbs! I hadn’t appreciated the extent of the midday nap in this town.

Making a beeline for Woof and Whisker Wellness Center – loony place if you ask me – All that stretching and bending! Not for your average hound. Luckily, Sandra, the retriever receptionist, shook her head. No Max. A sigh of relief, really.

My paw itches, a call to the Canine Couture Clothing, and there it is – the infernal nemesis. A shop full of hats. I walk the final walk with my tail under my legs, with an air hanging about me that says, “Come on chaps. No hats, remember?”

But the minute I cross into the villainous borders. Well, blimey. There he was. Max, decked out in a particularly pompous-feathered hat. Silly mutt got himself trapped. The fool loved playing dress-up.

Max looks at me. I look at Max. A silent conversation later, yours faithfully crash-tackles a parade of multicoloured, sombreros, fedoras, and sun hats. A villein to some, hero to others. It’s all about perspective really, ain’t it?

Max freed and hatless – the day is saved. We sneak off with a yip, tales of adventure etched in our minds, ready for the next escape to Pawsburg. After all, that’s what we’re here for. Tea, biscuits and rescues.

And a reminder, chaps – Doghood. It’s dual. The routines at Farmer Lane, loving the lemon-less chicken strips, but also the grand escapades. Now off I go, keen on my reward – a treasure indeed, my battered, beautiful red ball awaits. Another day, another rescue, with hats as foes and chicken strips as friends, this is life in Pawsburg, seen through Bailey’s eyes. To be continued, my friends.

The End.