Hey, just wanted to let you know that I’ve been sniffing out trouble in Pawsburgh. Spent the night avoiding temptation, dodging a double-cross at The Doggy Depot, and giving Frank the slip. Missing Chitter’s nutty insight. Life here’s like a chewed-up bone, comfort and tragedy all rolled into one. It’s a wild story I’ve got, might just keep it on the down-low. Stay pawsome! – Bullet 🐾🕵️‍♂️

Listen to the story here

Sometimes I think this town, Pawsburgh, ain’t nothing but a bunch of alleys twisted up like a discarded leash. It’s where we dogs take a sniff at life’s more pungent odors, leaving behind the polished wood floors and ceramic dishes for something, I dunno, more real. Here, under the gargantuan canopy of that oak in the park, I let the whispers tickle my ears. They’re not always sweet nothings, oh no. Sometimes, they’re the gritty grind of gossip, marinating in the backalley scents of Shar-Pei Shores.

It all started one misty evening at Spaniel Springs, the lampposts flickering like the last twitches of a dream. There I was, Bullet, the terrier who wore his grey and white like I won a prize – which, in a way, I did, every time I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a puddle. That night was different, the air was thick with intrigue, like when you accidentally scarf down a spoonful of peanut butter and it sticks to the roof of your mouth.

I made my way to Paw-lickin’ Pancakes because, frankly, what else feeds the soul at this ungodly hour? Chitter, my squirrelly sidekick, was notably absent. That’s friendship for you – fleeting as a scent on a windy day. I missed his non-canine perspective, even if it was riddled with nuts and erratic darting.

The clickety-clack of my claws on the cobblestone beat out a rhythm only this town’s shadows could dance to. Aroma hit my snout before I even crossed the threshold of Hound’s Hotdogs. My stomach rumbled its agreement, “Grilled hot dogs – now there’s a crime I could commit.” But I remembered my squeaky toy hamburger, how it looked at me with that silent squeak when I left the apartment. I didn’t need more distractions tonight.

Fetch! Toys and Treats loomed ahead, dark and shuttered, where I turned left to avoid the temptation. And suddenly, Brussels sprouts. Their vile stench, a surefire tail-tuck inducer. I knew the heist was going down at The Doggy Depot right next to it. The air hung with the greasy sense of a double-cross. Through the foggy window, I saw silhouettes, deft paws moving contraband – collars, perhaps, or worse, fake squeakers – shadows shifting in a guilty pantomime.

I pressed my ear to the cold door, listening. Muffled voices threading through the cracks like unwanted advice. And then – I was spotted. A beefy bulldog bouncer, Frank, with jowls so big you could hide a tennis ball in each one, gave me the eye. “Bullet, ain’t you a bit far from your squeaky burger bed?”

I knew Frank; we’d shared a bonfire-baked biscuit once upon a winter’s night. “Just taking the air, Frank. The world’s got enough trouble without adding dogfights into the mix.”

He grunted in agreement, a sound like gravel getting chewed up by a power walker’s shoe. Inside, I heard the clink of collars changing paws – the Doggy Depot closed at sunset, and this transaction had the stink of midnight.

“I’m gonna have to ask you to move along,” Frank rumbled. I know a dismissal when I hear one, like when you jump up for a cuddle and get the old “down, boy.”

So I trotted off, toward Garnet Greyhound Grove. The sprouts’ stink faded, replaced by the undeniable allure of illegal treats. But I had a date with an oak tree to keep, my tail tracing cryptic messages in the mist. And deep down, I felt Chitter’s absence like an itch beneath my collar, the missing piece in a caper almost as twisty as Pawsburgh itself.

Yeah, this town was like a well-gnawed bone, both comforting and a little tragic. The stories I’d tell… well, maybe I’d keep this one to myself. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out here, and even a terrier with a penchant for grilled hot dogs has sense enough to know when to play dead.

The End.