Hey fam! Couldn’t help myself last night—led a furry Ocean’s Eleven for the ultimate toy at The Groom Room. Success! 🐾😎 Ollie and I are now the proud owners of the mythical Ultra Chewmax 3000, minus the dreaded bath-time. Pawsburgh’s never seen such stealth! I’ll share the spoils after my morning belly rub. Stay pawsome! 🍕🐶 – Sammy

Listen to the story here

Under the cobbled streets bathed in the golden hue of Pawsburgh’s streetlamps, a plan as audacious as it was hairy began to take shape. I, Sampson, a brown mix Lab with a penchant for pizza crust and an aversion to the aquatic, was to lead a heist most epic—a challenge I accepted with a tail wagging in enthusiastic anticipation.

You see, I’d caught word through the bark-vine about an exciting new toy that had hit the shelves of The Groom Room, said to be more marvelous than any squeaky ball or Chuckit stick on the market. But acquiring it had a price tag steeper than the tallest fire hydrant in town, so my crew and I (you know Ollie the pug, of course) had schemed an alternative route to procure this treasure.

The Groom Room was more than a stone’s throw from Garnet Greyhound Grove and a couple of blocks from my favorite chew spot—Rottweiler’s Ribs. Ollie and I, along with the scruffy but resourceful crew we’d assembled in Pomeranian Park earlier that evening, concocted a plan fit for a cinematic caper.

“It’s simple, really,” I’d said to them, “we get in and out, tails untwisted, with the grab of our lives.” Ollie, small in stature but large in spirit, nodded sagely with that bossy air only old pugs possess.

Timing was everything. We’d had to wait for the moon to cast the right shadow over Lhasa Lane and the watchful eyes of the night-patrolling canines to wander elsewhere. Ollie, with his extensive knowledge of every nook and cranny in town (a testament to his wise old years), had pinpointed the weakest security spot behind Setter’s Steakhouse— an unparalleled shortcut to our desired bounty.

So there we were, belly-crawling past the aromatic bins of Shepherd’s Shawarma, my team’s muzzles twitching with the meaty scents that taunted our nostrils. But there was no stopping. Not even for a (rather delicious-looking) fallen shawarma piece that made my mouth water.

We reached the back alley of The Groom Room and, by Jove, Ollie’s info was spot on. The back entrance was loosely secured, the night guard dozing amidst dreams of endless bones, no doubt. We made our break, with me leading the charge and ignoring the sinful smells of the trash bins—those delectable, heavenly trash bins.

Inside, our target awaited us: The Ultra Chewmax 3000, a toy guaranteed to withstand even the most vigorous of chompers. It sat there, glinting under the fluorescent lights like the bone of Excalibur.

But then, disaster struck—or splashed, to be more precise. The betwixt rat-a-tat-tat of falling water droplets, leaking from an overhead pipe, almost broke my resolve. Water, the bane of my very existence, gave me pause, droplets anointing my fur as if challenging my deepest fears.

And yet, the sight of the Ultra Chewmax 3000 was too much. I shook off the water (literally), and with the focus of a dog set on extra cheesy crusts, nabbed the toy. Our exit was as stealthy as our entry, the guard none the wiser.

As we traipsed back to our homes, the dim glow of dawn was beginning to stir the sleeping town. Hiding our prize beneath a hedge, I licked my chops, knowing well that tonight had been a tail-wagger of an adventure.

We’d done it—Ollie, myself, and the finest paws Pawsburgh had ever raised. As I sneaked into the warmth of my family home, little did my humans know of the night’s escapades. But the wag in my walk and the whispered howl of the wind told of a tale only a doggy door could keep secret.

Now, as I lie here, waiting for Daddy to wake and throw the Ultra Chewmax 3000, I know it’ll all be worth it. After all, what is life but a series of heists for the things we unapologetically love: a toy, a treat, or the company of a bossy old pug?

The End.

Share This Story: