Hey Sam,

In the cloak of night while you dreamt, I upheld my secret life as Pawsburg’s top dog detective. Unraveled The Night Nibbler mystery with Max and Bella by my tail. Justice served with a side of gravy, tales tucked under our collars. Back for cuddles before your alarm, pretending it’s all just a squirrel-chasing dream.

Dream on,
Jake 🐾

Listen to the story here

From the journal of Jake, Lead Pawsburg P.I. (Paw Investigator):

It all started at the crack of twilight, a time when shadows are long and the tales as tall as Great Danes stand. There I was, Jake, the grizzled Labrador with the white tufted badge of honor upon his chest, sauntering down Pearl Papillon Promenade with the kind of purpose only a seasoned snout detective can muster.

They say every dog has his day, but in Pawsburg, it’s more like every night. My friends – oh yes, my very own squad – Max, with his nose so sharp he could sniff out a lie before it even began, and Bella, sleek as an otter and twice as clever, trotting by my side. We were the best the Pawsburg Pet Precinct had to offer, three wild spirits in hot pursuit of adventure, and if luck would have it, a decent meal.

The air smelt of mischief, an aroma I savored more than Sam’s grilled chicken. A rustling in the alleyway of Lhasa Lane caught our attention. Max’s ears perked up, his beagle bay ready to sound the alarm. Bella gave a nudge, her stumpy tail betraying her excitement. It was go time; the game was afoot – or apaw, I should say.

We gave chase. Above, the lampposts flickered as if cheering us on, our paws pounding the pavement, nostrils flaring through the night air. The suspect? A clandestine cat – the audacity! This was our turf, feline fugitives be warned.

Yet, as we neared, it was no cat that met our gaze but a figure, shrouded in shadow, outside The Wagging Tail Bookstore. A heist? Not on my watch. My heart raced, feeling younger than the greying muzzle would suggest.

“A book bandit, perhaps?” Max postulated, his tail wagging as if he’d cornered a rabbit.

“Or a grooming gone awry at The Dapper Dog?” Bella’s small frame belied her ferocious spark.

“Let’s sniff out the truth,” I declared, determined to wrap up this caper before the first light licked the horizon or before Sam awoke to our empty doggy bed – whichever came first.

Without warning, the figure dashed, a blur against cobblestones. Into The Doggie Daycare we bounded, determined to collar our culprit. A masked mongrel, eyes crossed in an expression I knew all too well – mischief.

Max barked, a siren in the silent night. Bella leaped, graceful as a gazelle. And me? Well, I negotiated the best tool a dog has – a stern, disapproving grumble, the kind Sam couldn’t resist when it meant extra peanut butter.

“Give it up, Spotty,” I jowled, for indeed, beneath the mask, the notorious Maltese smuggler flashed his uneven spots. “You’ve been tailed.”

The case of the Night Nibbler nabbed before a single biscuit was burgled. With a sniff and a snort, Spotty slinked off, and we marched him right to Pup’s Poutine for a celebratory snack, keeping true to our finest Pawsburg tradition – justice with a side of gravy.

“So,” Bella started, a twinkle in her paddle-shaped eyes, “do we tell Sam what we’ve been up to?”

Max and I shared a look, tales as seasoned as our fur, our canine code of honor keeping our lips sealed.

“Let him believe,” I muttered, grinning like a pup with an unguarded steak, “that we’re merely dreaming of chasing squirrels and barking at the mailman.”

Ah, Pawsburg; our secret haven, our twilight playground. And as dawn drew near, with content bellies and grinning muzzles, we ambled home just in time for Sam’s morning alarm.

As I settled beside him, I whispered tales of our escapade, my wagging tail betraying the thrill of the night. Duty called, and we answered – always ready, always willing, and of course, ever so sly.

The End.