Hey human! 🐾 Just saved Pawsburg from the Green Bean Gang’s shenanigans again. Sasha and I kept the peace, and our tails are still wagging with triumph! Don’t worry, your vigilant Short Stalwart has everything under control. Sweet dreams, you’ll never guess the heroic tales your humble corgi has to bark. 🌟🌙 – Spencer the Protector

Listen to the story here

In the dim light of the crescent moon, a furry figure darted through the streets of Pawsburg, ears perked and nose to the wind. I, Spencer the corgi, was on a mission, a quest of the most gallant kind. For I was no ordinary pet; within the confines of this enchanting township, I was known as The Short Stalwart, guardian of all tail-waggers.

Whippet Way gleamed under the stardustrial lights, and the shops — like The Wagging Tail Bookstore with its tales of canine daring and The Woofy Bakery emitting aromas to make any snout quiver — stood silent witness to my nightly patrol. It was my duty, after all, to ensure that the peace of Pawsburg was not disturbed by the notorious Green Bean Gang — fiendish veggies bent on blanketing the town with their leafy malevolence.

With each stealthy trot, I ruminated on the evening’s briefing at Fido’s Feast. Over plates stacked with roast chicken, trimmed elegantly of any bothersome greens, Benny had yelped out an alert: the Gang was up to something particularly sinister. I could hardly stand the thought; those tasteless villains wouldn’t get past this corgi’s watch.

As I rounded the corner towards Bloodhound Bluffs, the whisper of wind carried a voice, “Short Stalwart! To the park, if you’d be so kind.” The voice was soft yet carried an undercurrent of urgency. Old Mrs. Thistlewhit, whose authority surpassed even the most regal of collar tags.

I hastened towards the dog park, my ears and my heart tuned to the call of duty. Sasha awaited, her tail semaphore-spinning a silent alarm. Upon my arrival, she danced in a blur of excitement, “Spencer! The Beans! They’re…”

But there was no need for her to finish — I saw it myself. The Green Bean Gang, slinking about Newfoundland Nook with sacks of their vile kind. My pulse quickened, yet my corgi countenance remained calm; a superhero never shows his paws trembling.

“Ready, Sasha?” I barked.

“Born ready!” she replied, her bark a mix of jitters and determination.

We sprang into action, a bowling ball of bravery and a prancing prima donna. The gig was up for the beans — every last sprout would be sent packing. Sasha distracted them with her acrobatic tailwork, a spin that could’ve been choreographed by celestial beings. I pounced, my short legs a blur, and soon the beans were rounded up, enclosed in a squeaky red ball that once trapped me with its under-the-couch allure.

The origin story of a hero often involves overcoming some great trauma. Mine? The chase of the squeaky red nemesis into near oblivion under the couch had taught me resilience, had shaped me into the hero Pawsburg needed.

“We did it again, Spence!” Sasha yipped, relief wagging in her hindquarters.

I brushed a paw across my chest in a self-congratulating pat, “All in a night’s work for The Short Stalwart.”

Triumphant, we paraded back to Bark-n-Bite Bistro, gaining cheers from our fellow four-legged compatriots. Weary yet content, I contemplated the secret of my power. Perhaps it was in my statant stature, my perky ears or my uncanny ability to appear solemn and wise, much like the ancient plush toy tucked in Charlie’s sock drawer.

The sun would rise soon, and the humans would be none the wiser of the exploits of their canine companions. But as the stars began to wane and the aroma of morning beckoned the town awake, the story of Spencer, The Short Stalwart of Pawsburg, continued on, woven into the fabric of doggy dreams and daytime squirrel chases, a tapestry of secret lives lived under the very noses of our loving, unsuspecting humans.

The End.

Share This Story: