Hey packmate! Duo here. Just ninja’d my way out of the pound after a trash-tipping frame-up. Partnered with Max for an epic escape; think Shawshank with fur. Skirted the law with smart disguises and fetched myself back home before Ellie’s workday ended. The Duo legend lives on – keep your tails wagging and your spirit undomesticated. Bark at ya later! 🐾✨ #FreedomFur

– Duo

Listen to the story here

Oh hey there, tail-waggers and four-leggers, Duo here, and hoo boy, do I have a tail-tale to bark about. Now, you all know me as the Brindle Dutch Shepherd with the doe eyes and a coat that Picasso would have killed to paint, but on this particular day, I found myself in a Dogs-darn pickle!

So there I was at Maplewood Cottage, playing with my beloved frisbee—that blue UFO that I’m positive holds the secrets of the canine universe—when suddenly, Ellie’s voice echoes, saying she’s off to this thing called “work.” (For the life of me, I can’t figure out why humans choose anything over belly rubs and tossing squeakies, but I digress.)

Golden hour approached, and the world glowed like the inside of a biscuit jar. That’s when the unimaginable happened: I was nabbed mid-leap by the mysterious Pawsburgh Pound Patrollers. Accused of tipping over the trash on Affenpinscher Avenue!

“Excuse me,” I wanted to say, “I’m more of your tip-the-waiter, not the trash-can type.” But before I could defend my honor, bam! I was behind bars at the shelter, feeling more betrayed than when I find broccoli in my bowl.

Okay, reality check: I’m in the big house, but Duo is nobody’s lapdog, capisce? Plus, I had to get back before Ellie comes home to her solo sunset. So, prison break it is! You might be thinking, ‘Isn’t that a bit drastic?’ Listen, all is fair in love and war and canine escapes.

Step one: Pawsburgh Pound had weaker security than Ellie’s attempts to keep me out of the trash. Lucky for me, my buddy Max—the golden slobber machine—had also been thrown in the clink for excessive joy on Weimaraner Woods trails. His escape skills rivaled those of any Houdini Hound.

“Max, we’re getting out of here,” I whispered, my eyes giving off that Brando vibe.

“I’m with you, Duo,” he barked back, “I’ve got a face too pretty for jail!”

We devised a plan to tunnel out during nap time, when the guards were snoring louder than Tilly after a squirrel chase. My ears, sharper than Ellie’s knitting needles, picked up the snores in perfect rhythm, a godsend for two desperate doggos with an eye on freedom.

As we wriggled through our tunnel, Tilly unleashed her barkbomb—a distraction to rival the fourth of July. “More power, tiny one,” I muttered.

Emerging by Spa for Paws, freedom smelled like chicken (my favorite!), and I resisted the urge to raid Canine’s Cuisine. Had to stay focused; had to avoid all things green and leafy.

We sprinted through Pawsburgh’s streets. The world seemed still—just like my cherished golden hour—as Max and I dodged into the embrace of Weimaraner Woods, leaves crunching under paw, freedom nipping at our heels.

A burst through the woods, a quick stop at The Snooty Snout for a disguise, and voilà! With a swanky beret and Max disguised as a poodle, we sauntered past the patrollers, unnoticed.

Safe at Maplewood Cottage just in time, I washed off the scent of adventure with Ellie none the wiser, because let’s face it, Duo is as Duo does—always one paw ahead.

Through it all, I snatched back my good name—clear of any garbage indiscretion. So, my furry friends, may your bowls be full (of meat, not green leafy lies), your frisbees be plenty, and your golden hours be ever glowing. From Duo, over and out!

The End.