Hey Mom and Pop,

Just saved Baxter from a shadow that ate him up on our existential debate night! Became a hero in Pawsburgh and sniffed out a mystery like Sherlock Bones. Looks like this town’s got more tales than a kennel club. More updates soon. Tail wags and face licks!

– Gizmo the SnifferDetective

Listen to the story here

The night Baxter went missing in Pawsburgh, a silence settled over Shar-Pei Shores that felt as thick and suffocating as a wet blanket. I’m Gizmo, by the way, the French Bulldog with the ears that could pick up a dropped treat from three blocks away – not that I’m bragging or anything.

I was lounging on my favorite cushion, the one shaped like a bone that always gives me the sweetest dreams, when the stillness of the night was shattered by Miss Whiskers’ caterwauling from Affenpinscher Avenue.

“Gizmo, you must come quickly!” she yowled, her voice tinged with a fear I’d never heard before. I might not have known the gritty details of my own personality, but if there’s one thing I’ll admit to, it’s that I can’t ignore a friend in distress.

Without a second’s thought, I dashed out like my tail was on fire, my heart thrumming in my chest like a marathon drummer. The familiar scents of Pawsburgh – Terrier Tacos, Mastiff’s Meals, and, embarrassingly, that one time I couldn’t resist sampling the Hound’s Hotdogs trash – were overpowered by an eerie scent, something between a thunderstorm and despair.

I met Miss Whiskers at the edge of Doberman Dunes. “Baxter,” she whispered, “he’s gone. One minute, we were discussing the existential risks of chasing one’s own tail, the next minute, poof! Vanished into thin air. And now there’s this… this thing that’s prowars.”

“What thing?” I asked, my voice an octave higher than what I’d intended (so not cool, Gizmo).

Miss Whickers flicked her tail towards a shadow licking the ground beneath the full moon – a shadow with no maker. My fur stood on end, a bristly coat of primal fear that no Groom Room could smooth down.

Gathering the shreds of my courage, I did what any dog would do: I thought of my blue tug rope and how it never let me down, and I marched towards the uncanny shadow.

“Show yourself!” I barked, and much to my uvula-twisting horror, the shadow responded.

An eerie voice, as hollow as a bone devoid of marrow, spilled forth. “Temptations lie in the eye of the beholder,” it said. “Tell me, Gizmo, what is it that you seek?”

“Give us back Baxter!” I demanded, thinking, like, how cliché to get involved in a dog-napping.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. The Beagle has merely discovered a new… realm of possibilities.”

My heart raced, I could do this. I would do this. For Baxter, for Pawsburgh, for the juicy tales I’d waggle about later.

“Okay, listen here,” I said, mustering a Mindy Kaling-esque sass. “This ‘new realm’ doesn’t include butterfly chasing or roasted chicken, so it’s a no-go for Baxter. Spill the beans, or I’m turning this into a buddy-cop horror story where the cutie-pie pup wins.”

There was an almost audible sigh from the shadow as if it were a disgruntled teenager asked to clean its room. With a shiver that ran through the sands, the shadow dissolved, and there, coughing on a fur-ball of dark energy, was good ol’ Baxter.

“Giz! You did it!” He wagged his tail at full-mast.

I could feel the triumphant surge of the hero. It wasn’t easy facing the dark forces of Pawsburgh… but I tell ya, it beats a lemon to the face any day.

Later at The Wagging Tail Bookstore, over a game of chess with Miss Whiskers and Baxter’s recount of his ‘otherworldly adventure,’ I couldn’t help but think something big was on the horizon. Because in Pawsburgh, we might just be dogs, but dang it, we’ve got stories worth howling over.

The End.