Hey Mom,

Craziest day ever in Pawsburgh! Turned into a real-life detective with Connor, chasing after mysterious orbs and shadowy figures on Malamute Mountain. Found a magical ancient statue, and possibly changed Pawsburgh’s fate? So much for a normal walk – this pup’s got tales for days! 🐾😄

Licks and wags,
Willow Pillow 🌿✨

Listen to the story here

I woke up that misty morning in Pawsburgh with a sense of intrigue pricking at my fur, as if adventure had booked an appointment with me and I was running unforgivably late. I had vague recollections of Connor chatting excitedly about some queer happenings atop Malamute Mountain — fiery, floating orbs and shadows that danced without owners. But let’s not jump the gun, shall we?

After a hearty breakfast (a chicken fillet that set my tail a-thumping with its every succulent bite, mind you), I took leave of my squeaky dragon, giving it a sorrowful squeak for good measure. Connor would be waiting at Pyrenean Peak, and Golly, I couldn’t let a friend down.

With each paw step, the town of Pawsburgh unfolded like a novel filled with twists and turns; today, I was the hero of this story. The air thrummed with the mundane mysteries of life, the familiar bustle as other dogs went about their day — some stopping by Sniffer’s Sandwiches for a sprightly snack, others greeting me as they exited The Canine Cafe, tails wagging with caffeinated vigor.

By the time I reached Setter Shore, my fur bore the brisk tang of the sea. It’s the go-to spot for many of us when the sun graces us with her presence, and I watched a few pups plunge into the lapping waves. As much as the scene invited me, my destiny lay elsewhere. Paws set to purpose, I moved onward.

Connor, dear lad, was already at our meeting spot, his tail beating a welcome as rhythmic as a drum. “Willow,” he barked, his eyes glinting with excitement, “today’s the day. Let’s unravel the mystery that’s put all Pawsburgh’s fur on end!”

But just as we set off toward Malamute Mountain, the world around us took on a peculiar hue. The vibrant greens and browns smeared together, as though we’d stumbled into a painting that wasn’t quite dry. A low hum filled our ears, one that I felt more than heard, like electricity chasing its tail.

We pressed on, despite the queer turn of events, weaving our way up the path to Malamute Mountain. It’s not that we were courageous, but curiosity can make chancers of the best of us. As the forest gave way to craggy open spaces, we witnessed it: a spectacle that beggared belief.

Orbs of light, ethereal and mesmerizing, danced above the ground like celestial marionettes. Shadows detached themselves from rocks and crevasses, performing a silent ballet that would have stolen the breath from my lungs, had I not been a dog.

“There’s something not quite normal about all this,” Connor whispered, an understatement so stark it would’ve been comical under any other circumstance.

I couldn’t help but agree. “Let’s take a delicate paw forward,” I suggested. “One should always walk where angels fear to tread, eh?”

Despite our foreboding, we approached the lightshow. Then, all at once, the orbs burst and the shadows retreated. In their place stood a statue, depicting what seemed to be a dog much like us, yet unlike any other — ageless and fierce. Was this some guardian of Pawsburgh’s past, or a portent of its future?

The wind seemed to carry whispers from an ancient time, but they might as well have been lost in the clanging of the Corgi’s Crepes’s kitchen, for all the sense they made to me.

The End.