Hey Mom,

Caught in a paws-and-effect mystery here in Spencerville when everything went eerily quiet. I sniffed out my hero moment! Turns out a bunch of adorable troublemakers (kittens!) silenced our Great Squeaker. With charms and a delicate touch, we saved the day and got our bark back! Spencerville is whole again, purring and wagging, and I got a tale to tell. 🐾

Licks and wags,
Tanner 🐶

Listen to the story here

Things had taken a decidedly odd turn in Spencerville ever since the Great Squeaker fell silent. No one chirped about it, but there was an unsaid understanding that life in our furry haven had tilted slightly off-kilter. With sticking-out-ears to the ground, rumors fluttered like bees chasing a jam sandwich. They said the Squeaker would herald in a new era for all pawdom – The Walking Pets, they whispered, giving each other knowing looks.

That being said, let me introduce myself. I’m Tanner, four legs and a snout too curious for his own good. I’m what you’d call a local, tan with tasteful black accents, a fortuitous long nose – perfect for sniffing out trouble – and, if might say so myself, quite the grounded fellow despite the pawsomeness around me.

The day started as any would in our doggone society – breakfast at Pooched Potatoes, where the hash browns are never too hot (or too non-existent), followed by a gallivant down Beagle Beach, where the sun always hugs your fur just right. However, when the bark of excitement has more bark than bite, you know something’s up. And up it was when I trotted down to Shepherd Skyline, only to find the street silent, as though someone had pressed the big red muzzle button on the city.

As always, the first sign of trouble had the faintest whiff of ear cleaner about it. My buddy Fat Russell, a literal heavyweight in the world of philosophical bulldogs, was looking more puzzled than when he tries to lick the last lick of peanut butter from the bottom of the jar.

“Tanner, are you seeing what I’m not seeing?” Russell’s jowls wobbled in sync with his words.

“If you’re on about the emptinesses, then yes, Russ, I’m seeing it,” I replied. And not seeing Lilly was making my tail a tad less curly.

Millie was circling us, her eyes twinkling with a mix of worry and royal calm. “It’s as if everyone’s gone for a long nap. You don’t think… No, that couldn’t be it. Could it, Tanner?”

There it was, the big ‘if.’ If our humans had come back for us, that’d be a celebration to wag at. But this? This was no wagging matter. It felt more like the time I’d tried to eat a jalapeño – intriguing at first but regrettable shortly thereafter.

It was time for action. With my wife Lilly potentially napping away the mayhem, my father, the Mayor, not being his bustling self, and the whole town quieter than a cat’s conscience, it was up to us to unearth the buried bone of truth.

Off we trotted, past The Bark Shak hardly shaking, by Woof and Whisker Wellness Center looking less-than-well-themselves, and over to Husky Hill. There, we stood, looking over Spencerville, wondering if this was the paws-and-effect of that fabled Squeaker going mute.

Then it hit me. The Squeaker, our beloved vestige of vitality, had to be the key. If we could just make it sing out once more, perhaps the vibrancy of life would return to Spencerville.

We set our sights on the Great Squeaker’s resting place – The Pawfect Training Center. The journey was a silent movie, without a director yelling ‘cut!’ As we arrived, we were met with a sight that made even Fat Russell’s stout heart miss a beat – or was it breakfast? The Squeaker lay still, devoid of its usual waggy-tunes.

“Tanner, look!” Millie’s voice was an octave higher than a bat’s best note.

Pawprints, fresh ones, scampering around the Squeaker. Not the disarrayed dance of distress, but methodical, as if someone was performing a ritual. We followed the prints like a treasure map drawn by a pirate with questionable cartography skills.

And there, in a dusty corner behind the Great Squeaker, we unearthed the source of Spencerville’s silence – a clutch of kittens, all purrs and innocence, completely entangled in the cords that gave the Squeaker life.

I barely had time for an ‘Oh, cats’ before the kittens turned their wide-eyed gaze upon us. The standoff lasted but a moment before Millie, sweet soul that she is, edged forward.

With a King Charles’s charm and a delicate paw, she untangled the feline riddle, setting each kitten free. As the last cord was placed just so, The Great Squeaker heaved a great sigh and sprung back to life. The sound swept over us, a tidal wave washing the eerie silence away.

One by one, pets rejoined the streets, a cascade of dogs and purloined kittens flowing back into the town’s heart. As for Fat Russell, Millie, and me, we sat atop Husky Hill, watching as Spencerville regained its barking beat.

It wasn’t the post-apocalyptic drama the rumors had promised, but in Spencerville, with its twists and tails, every day had its own tale, and this one had purred its way into our hearts. Now, where’s Lilly with that cheese?

The End.