Hey human,

Just thwarted some ghost hounds haunting Vizsla Valley & rescued my squeaky bone! All in a day’s work for Nero, paranormal investigator and bone guardian 🐾. PS: Could use some of that grilled chicken for my bravery!

– The Spectral Sniffer 🕵️‍♂️👻

Listen to the story here

You might think a Basset Hound’s day is nothing but naps and sniffing out interesting smells—I’m looking at you, Mr. Squirrel. But in Pawsburgh, my days are woven with a tad more… let’s call it the supernatural.

There I was, lounging under my favorite weeping willow in Pine Park, the subtle perfume of grass tickling my nose—when Daisy bounded over, tail spinning like one of those windmill things the humans love to put in their gardens.

“Nero!” she barked, practically quivering with excitement. “You gotta come to Vizsla Valley with me. There’s something strange happening!”

Excitement isn’t normally my thing—I’ve got an image to maintain, mind you—but this was Daisy, and when Daisy had a case of the urgents, it usually meant adventure. Plus, there was that tone in her yip one can’t ignore, a harmonic of the unnatural.

We took off into the heart of Pawsburgh—a place where the impossible often dressed in possible’s clothing. As we trotted down Sniffer’s Sandwiches’ adjacent alley, I spotted glowing in the distance—an eerie light emanating from Vizsla Valley, casting shadows that didn’t adhere, to well, shadow etiquette.

“You see that?” I woofed, ears perked despite their droopiness.

Daisy’s beady eyes squinted. “I do, but what I don’t know is if it’s more ‘find a human’s lost slipper’ strange or ‘how did my toy end up on the roof’ strange.”

I nodded. “There is something in between those, I believe.”

By the time we made it to Vizsla Valley, the glow had intensified, bathing the area in an ethereal gleam. A peculiar silhouette, too nibble for a dog and too clumsy for a cat, meandered through the heart of the light. A ghostly tail waver, perhaps?

“Ever seen a ghost dog, Nero?” Daisy whispered.

“Mmm, I’ve seen my reflection in the washer at The Snooty Snout Boutique,” I mused, “and that was enough to haunt me for days.”

We edged closer. There, in the center of it all, sat my red squeaky bone—and around it, swirling wisps of what looked like smoke, coalescing into forms with tails but no dog attached.

Daisy nudged my side. “Go on, it’s your toy.”

I hesitated but stepped forward, thinking of chicken—grilled, delicious, an impossible treat lying just outside of this supernatural dilemma. Yet, as my paw neared the light, the bone levitated, shrouded by a vaporous canine form, and let out a squeak that felt colder than Pup’s Poutine’s leftovers.

“Nero, don’t do something doggone stupid,” I admonished myself. Yet courage or curiosity—perhaps they’re fed from the same bowl—nudged me to nudge it back.

The ghostly dogs wailed, a sound that was more bellyache than bark, and the bone dropped to the ground. Skirting around the spirits, I snagged the bone with my teeth and retreated.

“Nice going, Nero!” howled Daisy, the spirits dissipating back into the night.

The journey back to Pine Park seemed less supernatural with my trusty toy by my side. Daisy yapped about the spectral pooches, but truly, what canine wouldn’t leap at the chance to be spooked if only to feel the heart-hammering thrill of narrating the tail—er, tale—later on?

Sprawling back under the willow, bone secured, I wondered if the ghost dogs disliked cheese as much as I did; cheesy tales were far from my liking.

“Hey Daisy,” I barked, a sly grin stretching my snout. “Next time, we should write about this. We’d title it ‘Nero’s Ghostly Gala with the Bone Beyond.'”

Daisy laughed, a sound sprightlier than jingle collars. “As long as it’s got grilled chicken in the plot, I’m in.”

And really, isn’t that the paranormal Pawsburgh way—adventures ending not with a bark, but a chicken-flavored whimper?

The End.