Hey buddy!
Today I accidentally starred in ‘The Grand Frisbee Caper’ of Pawsburg—think less pup, more superhero. Nearly busted the space-time continuum catching a glow-in-the-dark disc. Whiskers and I are basically legends now. Hit me up, and I’ll spill more over kibble and cuddles when you’re home. Miss your face already.
Catch you on the flippity-flip,
Diesel 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

To clarify, I am Diesel, and if you’re expecting a tale about fetch and naps, well, strap in, because today’s shenanigans in Pawsburg… they’re more tail-twisted than that sock you lost in the laundry.

It all started with what I assumed to be a typical morn, stretching my limbs under the buttery sunlight spilling through the window. Sam had just left for work – a nod to my cue for a bit of covert four-legged revelry.

So with my favorite blue frisbee wedged carefully between my teeth, I sauntered toward the back door. It swung open before I even touched it. Spooky? Sure. Convenient? Absolutely! Outside, I didn’t find the usual suburban sprawl but the glistening streets of Pawsburg, shimmering like a mirage over hot pavement.

The town was buzzing with spectral surprises today. Whiskers – my unlikely feline compadre – greeted me with a tail flick that said, ‘I know things you don’t,’ in twelve different dialects of Meow.

“You up for a jaunt to Spitz Spire?” I asked because, well, that’s where the magic happens. Some say it’s cursed; others say it’s enchanted. I say, “It’s where I get my cardio.”

At Spitz Spire, shadows danced like they had a bit too much catnip. You know, the usual supernatural soirée. We’d heard rumors of a Frisbee that could fly beyond the rainbow skies of Pawsburg when tossed from the Spire’s peak – a Frisbee of Destiny, they called it.

“Heck of a day to forget mine at home!” I barked, the sarcasm thick enough to chew. Whiskers just rolled her glinting eyes.

“But is it?” she purred, producing MY tattered blue Frisbee from some feline pocket dimension.

With a sprint, a leap, and absolutely no regard for wind resistance, I sent the Frisbee sailing into the ether. The air crackled, and with a poof that smelled like grilled chicken – my favorite and, by the way, not a coincidence – the Frisbee froze mid-flight.

Suddenly, every dog in Pawsburg converged on our location, from the distinguished Great Danes of Newfoundland Nook to the savage Chihuahuas of Diamond Doberman Dunes. There was a unanimous gasp, the kind you’d hear if someone suggested cats rule – absurd, I know.

Then, it zipped back toward me like it had a hot date with destiny, shimmering with an unearthly glow. And catch it I did, because who doesn’t love a supernatural game of fetch that defies the laws of physics?

We hit Pooch’s Pizzeria afterwards because, hey, adventures make you hungry, and a Frisbee-flinging pup like me deserves the finest faux pepperoni. Molly, my spray-of-water-in-the-face buddy, joined us, drenched from head to paw as expected.

“Did I miss the Frisbee thing again?” Molly asked, shaking off enough water to fill a kiddie pool.

“A masterpiece of canine athleticism,” Whiskers deadpanned, her sarcasm almost – almost – as potent as mine.

Munching on a slice of pizza, I reflected on my day. The laws of Pawsburg twisted and turned, but one constant remained: my paw pals and our boundless thirst for the extraordinary.

Finally, as the day melted into hues of salmon and tangerine, I trotted back through that mysterious portal to my earthly abode, just in time to intercept Sam’s hand as it reached for the dreaded vacuum.

“Today, we dine on tales of wonder,” I barked, the Frisbee still glowing faintly between my jaws. Sam just ruffled my ears, clueless but content, while I, Diesel, keeper of the haunted Frisbee and Pawsburg’s most storied tail-chaser, settled in for a well-earned nap. Supernatural playtime waits for no dog – not even one with an affection for spectral sports equipment and a disdain for citrus.

The End.