Hey there! Just wanted to give you the tail-end of today’s shenanigans. Turned detective for a day and saved the Thanksgiving parade with Pb and Bella. Found a lonely Lab causing trouble, but turned him into a pal and a parade hero! Pawsburgh is full of cheers, and I’m stuffed with gratitude (and treats)! 🐾 – Gizmo, the Shih Tzu sleuth

Listen to the story here

I’ll never forget that crisp Pawsburgh morning, the one that almost turned our Thanksgiving Day parade into a turkey of a different sort. My paws pranced on the cobblestones of Whippet Way as I raced to meet Pb and Bella. The scent of roasting turkey seemed to dance through the air, but today something else accompanied it—a whiff of mischief.

“Good day, Gizmo!” barked a friendly Boxer as I trotted past Mastiff’s Meals.

I woofed back, my tail whirling like a furry propeller. I was on a mission—with a bit of peanut butter for sustenance, and the anticipation of adventure fueling my furry little heart.

Pawsburgh was ablaze with the colors of autumn, reds and oranges flickering like fire against the backdrop of Pointer Pier and Akita Alley. But ripples of unrest disturbed the harmony. Floats lay disheveled, decorations torn asunder, and there was a conspicuous absence of pies at Doggone Deli that couldn’t simply be chalked up to voracious appetites.

“Pb, Bella, this is pawful,” I yipped, my voice an octave higher than usual.

Bella’s ears twitched pensively. “There’s a barker in the night, Gizmo, and I’m not talking about the late-night Canine Cafe patrons.”

We set out, a trio of sleuths. Our first clue came in the form of a pawprint, a lone smudge on what was left of a spangled banner. It led us to The Pawsome Pet Pharmacy, where we found a medley of fur snagged on a windowsill.

“It’s not one of us,” I mumbled, remembering the pharmacy’s security cat Rascal—a likely non-participant in canine capers. The trail continued, a mystery wrapped in fur.

Our search saw us converge on Spaniel Spaghetti. The owner—a spry Spaniel named Spiffy—told us that someone had been skulking around the back alley. “Not the face for radio sort,” she quipped, sending us onward with full bellies and thankful hearts.

The clues culminated at The Woofy Bakery, just as I spied our shadowy figure retreating into the night, pelt as ebony as the starless sky.

“Nip at his heels, Gizmo!” Pb urged with the enthusiasm of a sportscaster.

“I’m no greyhound, Pb!” I yapped back, but the thrill of the chase coursed through me like a car ride with the window down.

We cornered the bemoaned beast by the remnants of a shredded float. Expecting growls, we were met with whimpers. “I just wanted to participate,” confessed the lonesome Lab, his tail drooping like a wilted sunflower.

And there it was, the kernel of truth beneath the chaos—a need to be seen, felt, included. We shared a glance, an unspoken agreement. The spirit of Thanksgiving was not lost on us.

“Help us rebuild,” I offered, the words warm and inviting like a plush bed near the fireplace.

Turns out, the Lab—a curious lad named Dexter—had a knack for craftsmanship that would’ve made Santa’s elves envious.

The parade bloomed anew, Dexter’s repentance reflecting in every carefully repaired float and restored decoration. The town dogs wagged and cheered as we marched, a brilliant mosaic of diversity and unity.

As night fell and the celebrations swirled around us, I nestled beside my loved ones, a thankful little Shih Tzu. Pawsburgh’s pulse beat strongly—the heart of a community healed by compassion.

The misadventure had taught us all something profound. Thanksgiving isn’t merely about the parade or the pie; it’s built on the bonds of friendship and the belief that everyone has a place at the table, or in this case, a spot in the parade.

Pawsburgh slept soundly that night, hearts full and bellies fuller, the echoes of a parade not easily forgotten, and a thankful spirit that would last far beyond the leftovers.

The End.