Hey Jamie,

Just wanted to paws and tell you that my day was pawsitively hilarious! My fur-iends and I tried to pull off a prank on Baxter at the Pawprint Pizzeria, but it turned into a sneeze-fest instead of a dash. Paid for it with laughs instead of cash! Nights here are always a howl, but your boy Finn can’t wait for morning cuddles and our daily adventures. 🐾

Licks and wags,
Finn

Listen to the story here

In the twilight-tinged fur of my own back and in the dawn-splashed spectacle of my eyes, I, Finn of the Australian Shepherd lineage, became something of a local legend among the doggery of Pawsburgh. Twilight and dawn, apt symbols for my dual life: the loyal companion to Jamie by light, and the secret denizen of the most dogful town on earth, once the sun’s glow was given over to the moon.

On a particular day of blustery charm, with the leaves whirling about like a tempest in a teapot, I found myself darting after the swirling sprites with a kind of madcap merriment that could only be described as Australian Shepherd Chic. With bellies full of illicit turkey slices from beneath Jamie’s table, my chums and I congregated at the most prestigious of meeting spots—Cavalier Cove.

Full of jest and mirth, the wise golden next door, whom I dubbed Midas for his rich coat and richer wisdom, suggested a prank most delightful in its potential for chaos. The plan? To pull a dine and dash at Pawprint Pizzeria. I should mention that in Pawsburgh, this entails consuming a meal and then playfully evading our obliging waiter, a sprightly Beagle with the face of an opportunist and the heart of a saint.

I pranced to my role with the self-assurance of a dog who had chased a thousand leaf-sprites, but fate is a fickle thing, and my merry band had apparently not thought things through.

“Pup’s Parfait closes at the moon’s peak!” the golden retriever, Midas reminded me, his voice carrying the hint of merriment. Pawprint Pizzeria was just next door, and the kick had to be timed impeccably—our tails wagging the beat.

With a symphony of spirits high enough to lift the moon, I announced our grand entrance to the Pizzeria. “Good evening, fine sir! Four of your finest slices—and do be quick about it, there’s a high wind tonight and I feel particularly possessed by the chase!”

The Beagle, whom I’ll call Baxter, offered a bow so deep his ears swept the floor, causing a giggle to rumble not unlike thunder across a soundless night. His kind nature belied the wit that sparred with mine, and I savored the match.

Dinner occurred as a whirlwind does—fast, furious, and with a baffling aftermath. As I eyed the Pizzeria’s corner door, plotting our grand escape, a most unforeseen complication arose; our frisky border collie friend, let’s call him Dash, decided this was the night to enforce his legendary aversion to citrus.

AAAchooo! went Dash as a lemon zest shaker made its unfortunate way to our table, mistook by Baxter as a curious form of Pawsburgh pepper.

Our dashing dash was thus reduced to a sneeze, contagious it seemed, as a wave of them followed suit, each AAAchooo! a mark of hilarity and bumbling jest. And Baxter, oh, dear Baxter, couldn’t contain his Beagle chortle as he realized our diversion was nothing but an achoo in the wind.

“Nice try, Finn my friend,” Baxter howled with laughter, while others joined the chorus of mirth.

“Checkmate,” he said as we all burst into a cacophony of barks and laughs. “That’ll be four slices of turkey pizza, seasonal leaves garnish, chased by a side of lemons, apparently!”

And there it was—the price of a prank, paid not in gold but in guffaws, the currency of true comedy. As the moon beamed down its approval of our merry entanglement, Pawsburgh stood as a temple of tails and tales, built on the grandest of goofs and the firmest of friendships.

We left Baxter a tip, of course, one worthy of our shenanigans—a treasure trove of the finest chew toys I never let anyone see (perhaps it was that elusive stuffed hedgehog after all).

As I trotted home, the moon our silent conspirator, I mused to myself that the crack of dawn would soon arrive, along with my dear Jamie, clueless of my escapades but always ready with a loving scratch. Oh, if humans only knew the whimsy of Pawsburgh nights, but that, my friends, is a tale for another twilight.

The End.