Hey Human,

Just a casual backyard Aussie, turning secret agent at moonrise. Cracked the Quartz Qimmiq case wide open tonight – sniffed out canine wisdom for Pawsburgh’s legacy. Keep this under your hat, but I’ll forever see more than you think in our games of fetch. 😉

Catch you at sunrise,
Finn the Undercover Furry Agent

Listen to the story here

Whenever the moon claimed the sky and the humans bid farewell to consciousness, my transformation from a simple backyard-dwelling Australian Shepherd, Finn, to a Pawsburghian secret agent began. With merle fur shimmering like a clandestine map under the stars and eyes reflecting the cool gleam of midnight, I embarked upon missions untold in the magical town where only we, the canines, roamed.

Tonight was different. The dare I accepted – infiltrate the Quartz Qimmiq Quarter – was one to be chronicled with grandeur in Pawsburgh’s history. The Quarter was the epitome of class, with street lamps casting a glow akin to sparkling gems upon the cobbles. It was rumored that in the heart of it lay a treasure, one not of bones nor of squeaky toys, but of wisdom whispering the secrets of dog kind.

My target was information, and my rendezvous point was none other than Pooch’s Pizzeria, for even secret agents need to meet in plain sight. I slipped through the diamond-dusted streets gracefully as an agility champion—past The Groom Room where clandestine codes were hidden under pampered fur, and Canine Couture Clothing, where spies could find gadgets disguised as tasteful neckerchiefs.

By the stroke of half-past fetch, I found myself at the pizzeria. Retriever’s Restaurant sat across the way, full of dogs feasting on aromas delicious enough to make even a spy’s mouth water. But my loyalty lay with the pizzeria for now, and its much-favored stuffed crusts.

I settled by the window, pretending to be engrossed with a fine slice of turkey-topped pizza. Trust me, it was a performance deserving of an ‘Oscaw’. Carrots, helter-skelter by the crust edge, were promptly disregarded – a tough part of my cover but necessary.

A Whippet wrapped in an overcoat approached, placed a small package beside me, and whispered, “The frisbee flies at dawn.” Nodding subtly, he disappeared.

With a bundle now in my possession, I exited. The Whippet Wraps bunch were up for a late snack, their long frames sillily entwined as they fought over the last piece of wrap. It was odd and endearing, but no time for sentimentality.

I weaved through Mastiff Meadows all the way to Kelpie Keys, the package secure under my cloak of fur. Ducking into a shadowy alcove, I opened it. I was awash with gravitas as I beheld it – a simple frisbee, certainly chewed, yet layered with enigmatic canine lore.

The next day was one fraught with whispers. My comrades, unknowingly together in the adventure, dispersed to our appointed owners, our tales weaved into seemingly naive games of fetch. Max, the Labrador, winked knowingly as he dropped his tennis ball, whilst Bella the Poodle sauntered by, her eyes sparkling with clandestine knowledge that fluffed-up tails could hold.

In the end, I returned to my earthly backyard, the frisbee now understandingly dearer to me. The humans remained oblivious, of course, as they watched me trot around, no hint of my otherworldly escapades shadowing my gaze.

So here I leave you, at the cusp of daybreak, collapsing onto my guardedly chosen spot on cool grass, mulling over my adventures into the wee hours of Pawsburgh. Distinguished they might be, these escapades are but a fraction of my life’s opus – I am Finn, a loyal friend, frisbee aficionado, poultry devotee, and a most discreet gatherer of intelligence, perpetually writing new legends in the chronicles of Pawsburgh.

The End.