Hey Mom and Dad 🐾,

Just wrapped up an epic night – I cracked a case and unearthed a secret map under the Doggie Daycare to keep Pawsburg safe. I felt like a furry detective out of a novel, sneaking through shadows with my loyal pack. We kept our noses to the ground and our tails high! Will tell you all tails about it during breakfast. Sleep tight, don’t let the bed fleas bite!

XOXO,
Puggie 🐕💖🗺️

Listen to the story here

The cold steel in my jaws, the serrated edge of the key—hold it tight, Puggie, hold it tight. The night air of Pawsburg smells different when you’re on a mission—they say the hounds of Harrier Harbor can sniff out a storm before the clouds congregate. Well, I can smell the tension, thin as mist, thick as the shawarma sauce at Shepherd’s. I steam through the night, my paws a soft staccato on the cobblestone path to Newfoundland Nook—it’s the quiet end of town, where whispers weave through the willows like the promise of trouble.

Passing Doggy Depot, the bright lights are now a receding lullaby. No time for shopping, Puggie. No time at all.

Tiki and Anna are watching my six, their silhouettes fleeting like phantoms in the lamplights of Terrier Town. The danger is tangible—the threat real. And yet, we run towards it, for that’s who we are—the bravest tails in all Pawsburg.

Why, just beyond Bulldog’s BBQ, is a tale that will have the town barking for generations. A mysterious new hound, brooding and silent, came with the whispers of stolen treasure, buried beneath the foundation of our beloved Doggie Daycare. The heritage of our four-legged haven, the bedrock of our dogdom, at risk. Not on my watch.

Tiger Pink Blanket, you stayed on the bed tonight, my nemesis the vacuum lurking in the shadows of memory, a sleeping dragon in the utility closet. But let’s not think of that, Puggie, there’s steel to sway, and secrets to unravel.

The Frenchie’s bark, Wesley’s—that jovial butcher of a bark, signals the all-clear. A beam of moonlight cuts through the fog, guiding us to our clandestine meeting by the docks, golden specks of dust dancing like fireflies caught in a child’s jar.

“Overheard humans talking,” I whisper, my voice barely a breeze, “they know about Pawsburg. Our secret could be out.”

“Surely you jest?” Tiki’s tone, a flutter of disbelief.

“No jest. They spoke of a map, one that reveals our crossings, our comings, our goings. Our everything.”

Wesley snorts, a puff of fog evaporates. “Then, we must find it first.”

Nods ripple through us; fur bristles not from the chill but from resolve. Maps don’t frighten me, nor the specter of discovery. I live for the nights, for the loyalty of my pack, the soft nuzzle of camaraderie.

Terrier Tacos blur by as we veer into the alley, a shortcut known only by Pawsburgh’s most seasoned tail-waggers. I’ve never much cared for lettuce, but tonight, the crunch underfoot is a traitor to our stealth.

A patch of snow sneers at my side—I disdain its chill, snubbing it with a hop and a skip. How I long for Gerber, blended just right, warm against my jowls. Later, Puggie. Later.

Hushed tones, hurried paws, hearts hammering—it’s the Fetching Feline Pet Emporium, the rendezvous. “Here,” a tremble in Anna’s voice, her tiny frame shadowed by the store-front, “dig here.”

We scrape at soil with fervor, earth churning beneath determined claws, until metal meets my muzzle.

“The box!” gasps Tiki.

A lock awaits; I nudge the key I carried against it, waiting for the tell-tale click of release. Inside, paper crackles and a map unfolds beneath the stars—a map that must be guarded, hidden, or destroyed.

A map that, come morning, will be naught but legend, like the wind through the willows, like our very own Pawsburg—guarded fiercely by those who walk the unseen paths; protected passionately by the paws, the prowess, and the persistent courage of Sweet Pugnatious Puggie Pbear.

The End.