Hey Mom,

Just a quick pupdate from your Boo Boo Puppy: Today I was the hero Pawsburg didn’t know it needed! Embarked on an epic adventure in search of a mystical bone, outwitted some gruff dogs, dodged a bath-puddle (phew!), and braved the spooky Bow-Wow Bogs. Found the bone, but guess what? I chose the cozy life over chaotic power and re-buried it. Adventure’s fun, but coming home is the real treasure.

Tail wags and woofs,
Buster 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

I must confess, amidst the hustle and bustle of Amber Akita Alley, I found myself a whisker away from the unimaginable. You know me, Buster, the dapper Yorkshire Terrier with the shimmering blonde coat and a hint of blue. I’m the one with that moose stuffy, Tommy, sagely gripped in my jaws, but today’s tale holds no room for him – this, my friends, is a story of my less cuddly escapades in Pawsburg.

It was a quartz-bright morning when I trotted into Mastiff Meadows, my paws tingling with the zest of a dog unleashed. The air was crisp, laced with the scent of pancakes from Paw-lickin’ Pancakes – my stomach grumbled in delight, but there was no time. Today was no day for syrupy indulgence.

I’d caught wind of a tail, I mean tale, shrouded in mystery. Somewhere, cloaked within the canine utopia of Pawsburg, our peace was threatened. Unseen perils lurked, and as the town’s unofficial guardian, I knew it fell upon me to unearth them. I’d heard mutterings at Corgi’s Crepes – murmurs of a treasure, an ancient bone rumored to grant its holder unimaginable power, a tidbit that could turn any benign Barker into a supreme sovereign of sniff and snarl.

With my nose to the wind and determination in my step, I sniffed through Quartz Qimmiq Quarter. It was there, in the quiet, that I overheard the gruff undertones of a Great Dane. They spoke in hushed barks, each word a loaded growl, about a map hidden behind the Pawsome Pet Pharmacy. I whizzed by, using every ounce of my Yorkshire stealth, sidestepping a puddle (because you know how I feel about baths), and made for the back of the shop.

The map was stashed behind an inconspicuous can of flea spray. The parchment felt cool to the touch, my eyes darting over it, deciphering the scrawls and X marks that adorned it. I had my tail, my course – the treasure was buried deep within the forbidden Bow-Wow Bogs, a place where no sane dog ventured after dark.

I journeyed on, paws muddied and spirit untamed, leaving behind the safety of doggy civilization. The Bogs loomed ahead, a canine heart of darkness. Whispers slithered between the reeds. Were they friend or were they foe? I clutched the map close—I couldn’t let this become a bone of contention between our amicable factions in Pawsburg.

There, beneath the cloak of an oppressive willow, I began to dig. Mud flew, paws worked overtime, and as the hole deepened, my heart raced. The air was filled with the tang of an incoming storm, or perhaps that was just the whiff of the dastardly Dachshund’s Deli sausage wafting over on an ill wind.

CLINK. My claw struck solid. With bated breath, I unearthed the vessel – an ancient, rune-scribed bone. The power it exuded was palpable. It thrummed. It called. Yet I knew, with every fiber of my being, that such power was not to be trifled with.

For a heartbeat, I stood stock-still, contemplating the might I held within my paws. You see, my dear humans, it’s one thing to dream about being the Big Dog, it’s another thing entirely to be faced with the choice. I glanced heavenward, admittedly hoping for a sign—maybe from Hims Daddy—to quell the tumult in my canine heart.

And so, before the whispers became roars and the temptations too great, I did the only thing one could do—I buried it once more. A good bone is a buried bone, they say, and some bones are best left untouched. I flung the map into the bog, watching it sink into oblivion, safeguarding the secret with my soul.

I returned to Pawsburg, my escapade unnoticed, my tale untold. As I melded back into the glow of streetlamps and the camaraderie of my four-legged comrades, I felt the chill of adventure leave my coat. What good is power if one loses the warmth of hearth and home?

So here I rest, upon my familiar pillow, with only you and the moon to share in the secret of the bone that almost was. Tomorrow, you’ll find me basking in the morning sun, sprinting through Mastiff Meadows, or perhaps savoring a Steak Bite at Paw-lickin’ Pancakes. But whether under the gaze of Pawsburg’s unassuming lanterns or the whispering trees of the Bogs, remember, my friends, there’s no adventure too great for Buster—the Yorkshire with a hint of blue and a heart of gold.

The End.