Hey Mom,

It’s your comedic crime-fighting canine, Shelby! Started the day with Darci’s doomsaying in Dogtown. Played it cool with celebri-dog Cleo and nearly nose-dived into prophecy fulfillment. Turns out, I AM the ‘tail-end’ twist in Pawsburg’s plot! Navigating change like a champ—cue the peanut butter and existential ponderings. Paws and reflect, what a life!

Scratches and Sniffs,
Shelby 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

There I was, Shelby, the Blue Weimaraptor with eyes like heaven’s very own sapphires, patrolling the glistening streets of Pawsburg. Not on an ordinary dog day, mind you, because let’s face it, in a town populated exclusively by dogs, there’s no such thing as ordinary.

That particular morn had started with a hint of drama sprinkled in the fresh dew—Darci, my wise ol’ basset hound pal, had a prophecy. Apparently, in Pawsburg, even basset hounds have visions, and they come with more layers than the town’s famed onion chews they serve at Paw Pad Thai.

“The tail-end of Pawsburg will twist in an unexpected way today,” she’d muttered with uncharacteristic vagueness. Just great. I thought I knew every tail in town.

My heart thrummed like my paws on the pavement as I trotted to Garnet Greyhound Grove. Each dog I passed seemed suspicious, their tails a little too waggy, their eyes a little too bright. In the back of my mind, I planned my evening with a peanut butter-stuffed Kong. A stress-eater? Maybe. But don’t judge until you’ve tried it.

“You look worried, Shelby,” noted Marcel, a French bulldog mix manning the Best in Show Photography. His accent always made him sound like he was half an inch from surrendering or starting a revolution—sometimes both.

“Worried? Me?” I let out a laugh that sounded more like a snort. It was the kind of laugh Tina Fey might have coughed out in her younger, less refined days. “I’m about as worried as a cat at a yarn store.”

Marcel squinted, which for him, was basically a regular look since his breed didn’t exactly scream ‘eagle-eyed’. “But you’re a dog,” he pointed out.

I winked, leaving him to ponder that existential nugget as I jaunted off.

The day unfolded with the humdrum perfection of Saluki Sands—the dogs there were racing so fast they blurred into brush strokes. Not even the sands could keep up. But not even the adrenaline there could distract me from the enigma that was Darci’s prophecy.

Lunchtime arrived, and with it, the gotta-eat-now-or-I’ll-die feeling that only Barking Brunch could satisfy. The thought of their famous bacon pancakes momentarily lifted my spirits. I took a seat next to a Dalmatian with more spots than a game of twister.

But peace is a pipe dream in Pawsburg, and in strutted the very embodiment of my troubles—Cleo, the town’s celebri-dog, an Afghan Hound with an ego that could fill Opal Pomeranian Park twice over.

We exchanged nods—I was cool on the surface, a tempest of nerves underneath.

“Shelby,” she sang, her voice smooth as the gravy on my pancakes. “Heard about Darci’s latest hocus-pocus?”

I played it cool. “Could you be more specific? She sees more futures than a fortune-telling octopus at a sea circus.”

Cleo flipped her luxurious mane, a smug smile on her lips. “Let’s just say it involves a certain silvery breed that’s been chasing leaves instead of destiny.”

Suddenly, it clicked. A spiral of leaves had me spinning at Garnet Greyhound Grove earlier, their dance a mock-up of the chaos in my heart. Autumns past mingled with Pawsburg’s present, and I was indeed the ‘tail-end’ facing a new twist.

“Drama’s tail is fluffy and unpredictable,” I quipped, channeling my inner Tina Fey. It would’ve earned a chuckle, but Pawsburg dogs lacked a decent sense of humor, especially concerning their tails.

Later, tucked away amidst the serenity of Happy Hounds Dog Walking, I reflected. Darci’s words, while cryptic, meant change—something us dogs either chase or run from. But me? I’m Shelby, the Blue Weimaraptor. I don’t chase change; I lead it.

And as I greeted the moon with a howl, my fur shimmering like stardust, I knew that no matter what loop-de-loops life threw at my tail, I’d face them head on—with wit, whim, and a slight chance of tripping over my own feet. Just another day in the life, or should I say, drama, of a dog named Shelby in the magical land of Pawsburg.

The End.