Hey, it’s Lorelei, aka The Brindle Detective of Pawsburgh! 😎🐾 Just saved the town from a chicken catastrophe & had the pups howling in delight. Met a Rottie chef, hushed a yapping Chihuahua, outwitted a Highbrow Hen, and brought the feast back to Bark Buffet. All in a day’s work. Tomorrow’s mischief? Stay tuned. 🐶💖🍗 Over & out!

Listen to the story here

On a misty morning in Pawsburgh, as the sun peeked over Malamute Mountain, I, Lorelei, shook the dreams of my slumber from my luscious brindle fur and prepared for a day that was bound to teeter on the dramatic edge of doggy existence. Lulled from my bed in the storybook cottage, I heard the murmur of the world outside, and my paws itched for adventure. Taking Mr. Acorn, my plush confidante, between my teeth, I trotted out to greet the dawn.

Ah, Chestnut Cocker Courtyard bloomed lovely this time of year, but today, the air was thick with more than just the scent of marigolds and the chirps of audacious blue jays. Rumors had it there was unrest at Bark Buffet, the buffet where canines could dine like kings! They were out of chicken. Out. Of. Chicken! Gasp, the horror! The terror! The… okay, maybe I’m being a tad dramatic, but we’re on a Mel Brooks’s level of dramatic storytelling here, and chicken is my kryptonite!

I, the heroic dachshund, was on the case. The task: navigate the tumult of disgruntled diner dogs and restore order. With my tongue a little out and my wagging tail creating a dramatic breeze, I bounded towards my first encounter.

At Shepherd’s Shawarma, the air was filled with the delightful aroma of spinning meats. Ricochet, the head chef and a Rottweiler with a notably sensitive palate (paprika makes him sneeze!), shared the crisis. “Lorelei, they’ve gone barking mad without the chicken! We need your nose for the extraordinary, your paws on the ground!”

True to my mysterious and enigmatic reputation, I gave him a look that could be a smile or a strategy. “I’ll see what I can do,” I said, or would’ve said if I weren’t a dachshund carrying a plush squirrel.

Over at Bark Buffet, the mood was indeed more sour than a lemon grove – and remember how I feel about citrus. A cacophony of yaps and howls filled the air, and there, in the center of it all, was Marbles, a high-strung Chihuahua with an appetite larger than Malamute Mountain itself.

“Lorelei!” Marbles yelped. “Lend me your ears!”

If I could have rolled my eyes, I would have. But instead, I cocked my head to show I was listening. Drama demands good listening skills, after all.

“They say the chicken’s gone, plucked from reality like a bad joke out of a two-bit comedy routine!” Marbles continued.

I pranced forward, Mr. Acorn swinging about, and faced the disgruntled crowd. “Fear not, my friends!” I exclaimed internally, while externally, I barked with authority, cutting through the clamor like mature cheddar – which, incidentally, is a great snack. The dogs quieted. “We shall have a feast yet!”

Having quelled the crowd with the grace of a dog who believes she’s part gazelle, I wove through the streets, right to the door of Tail-Twitching Treats. There, hidden behind a curtain of jerky and sweet potato chews, was the answer to our conundrum. A Highbrow Hen, known for her discerning taste in gourmet grains (and consequently, her gourmet eggs), oversaw a clutch of plump, prime chickens.

A trade was in order! A game of wit with the Blue Jay secured a sack of said grains for Highbrow Hen and voilà, Garnet Greyhound Grove was alive with the sound of sizzling chicken once more.

Returning to Bark Buffet, I was hailed a heroine, my bravery lauded, my ingenuity celebrated, and most importantly, my stomach satisfied. We dined, we danced, and we reveled in the restoration of chicken to the menu.

As the stars bespeckled the night sky over Pawsburgh, I snuggled closer to Mr. Acorn and wondered…

What melodrama shall tomorrow bring?

The End.

Share This Story: