Hey fam 🐾,

Guess what? Little Guy and Momma’s Boy just saved the Thanksgiving Day parade! We sniffed out a mystery, chased down a rogue iguana with a heart of gold, and turned the whole shindig into a pawsome display of unity. Now we’re all about stuffing and snuggles, not just tail wags!

Catch you at the buffet table,
Harley & Milo 🕵️‍♂️🐕🦎🎉

Listen to the story here

In the whimsical folds of Pawsburg, where the bark of laughter rings more melodious than the chime of Dogminster Abbey, young Harley and Milo found themselves on the cusp of a riotous adventure. It was the day before the esteemed Thanksgiving Day parade, a time when gratitude flowed like the town’s endless supply of drool-worthy treats.

“Harley, you think this’ll be the best one yet?” Milo quivered with barely contained excitement, his stubby tail conducting an invisible orchestra.

“Best, yes, but smoothest?” I paused, “Probably not if Buster’s in charge of the confetti cannon again.” My deep-set eyes were reflecting on the previous year’s glittery calamity as we trotted down Sapphire Schnauzer Street, our paws syncopated to the bustling rhythm of parade preparations.

That’s when we noticed something amiss; a wake of muddled pawprints, a trail of stuffing from chewed-up parade floats, and the unmistakable scent of deviance in the air. Someone was sabotaging the festivities, and my calm demeanor crumbled like a well-gnawed bone.

“By the K-9!” Milo gasped, “The Bark Buffet is in shambles!” His astonishment was justified; the prized Pup’s Poutine was scattered like a postman had just dashed through.

“Fear not, my vertically challenged chum,” I said with a reassuring wash of my tongue, even though my own nerves felt as snarled as an unwound leash. “We have a nose for mischief, and we’ll sniff out this cur.”

So began our caper, as we cantered paw-in-paw to rise to the occasion. Bella, her golden locks bouncing in empathy, joined our quest while Buster, pausing his cannon loading endeavors, grunted in solidarity.

“Don’t look now, but I think the Tail Wagger’s Tailor has also been hit,” Milo pointed out. Indeed, costumes were torn, threads dangling like the town’s suddenly dampened spirits.

Our mission unfolded with a symphony of blunders. Milo’s deductions led us to interrogate a suspicious squirrel, while Bella’s attempt to sweet-talk information out of the wind proved fruitless. In a Brysonesque bout of observational humor and accidental genius, it was Buster, stubbing his toe on a hidden clue—a sizable, mysterious scale—that brought us back on track.

“This scale,” he puffed, “couldn’t have come from any dog here. It looks…reptilian!”

Our search led us into the heart of Topaz Terrier Town, where amidst the draped ribbons and half-eaten pies, we cornered our culprit: a disgruntled iguana named Izzy, a non-canine outcast harboring a grudge against the dog-only parade.

“I wanted to make a float,” she confessed, cheeks bulging with bitter remorse. “But you dogs never gave me a chance!”

A collective sigh, fashioned from the strings of embarrassment and realisation, fluttered through our group. Izzy wasn’t malicious, merely a misplaced puzzle piece yearning for fitting.

“Why didn’t you just ask to join?” I queried, my tone more gentle than the breeze that carried away lingering qualms.

She shrugged, “I guess I didn’t think I’d be welcome…”

Well, it didn’t take a nose for news to know what came next. In a tail-wagging twist, we invited Izzy to lead the parade, her artistic talents transforming ragged floats into an extravagant display of gratitude and inclusion. After all, Thanksgiving wasn’t about the chest puffing pomp, it was about community, stuffing and all.

As the parade wended through the heart of Pawsburg, the camaraderie was palpable. Izzy basked in her new-found sense of belonging, and we indulged in the glow of newfound friendships and rekindled convictions. And amidst the fanfare, I lay, belly tickled by Milo’s rambunctious somersaults, knowing that in our remarkable little town, even an iguana could finally find a place to call home.

The End.