Hey there!

Just a quick pupdate: Turns out, I’m the Sherlock Bones of Pawsburgh today! The town turned ghostly & our pal Duke pulled a Houdini act. Channeling my inner hero with Watson & Coco, we braved the spooky streets & found him snoozing (classic Duke). Pawsburgh mysteries? Solved by yours truly, Detective Joc! 🕵️🐾

Stay paw-some,
Joc

Listen to the story here

I awoke to the uncanny silence of the early morn, a rare respite from the clamor that usually floods my ears when the humans are about. But today, something was amiss in Pawsburgh. I stretched my stout little French Bulldog legs and shook the sleep from my being, readying myself for a day at Pearl Papillon Promenade, or so I thought.

As I sauntered through the streets, I couldn’t help but notice a certain… emptiness. No bark of greeting from Watson emanated from the Beagle’s usual bench, no sight of Coco’s meticulously groomed fur prancing along the path. Pawsburgh, the enclave of canine camaraderie, felt desolate, a ghost town.

A spooky wind blew as I approached Blue Basenji Bay, carrying with it a smell that upset even my tasty chicken longings—a scent best described as eau de wet dog mixed with midnight mischief. Is that… fog? In Pawsburgh? It swirled around my legs, thick as pea soup—and there I go again, reminding myself of those detestable legumes.

Plucking up my courage, I trotted toward Rottweiler’s Ribs, hoping my friend Duke would be there, swapping tales with his old-timey Labrador gravitas. But as I neared, the bones outside the restaurant seemed to rattle an ill omen.

“Don’t tell me this place is haunted,” I muttered under my breath to the rubber chicken clutched in my jaws. We encountered the unexpected—a locked door. At midday! In the town where the phrase ‘Who let the dogs out?’ rarely requires asking!

That’s when I heard the faint piano playing from Paw-tisserie. It was eerie yet… off-tempo? “Only one way to find out,” I whispered to my chicken, “and that’s to investigate.”

Pushing open the door to Paw-tisserie, the source of the piano music became clear; an automated piano, playing for an audience of zero. “Aha, but a French Bulldog laughs in the face of the supernatural,” I declared, though I’m not entirely sure the chicken believed me.

Strolling back outside, the fog seemed thicker, a milky void swallowing up the familiar sights. A shiver tingled down my spine, and I’m positive it wasn’t from the morning chill. “We’re not in Pawsburgh anymore,” I jested, half expecting to hear my human’s chuckle—no such luck.

It was in this hushed Twilight-Bark-Zone that I heard the familiar chuffing of a Beagle.

“Watson?” I barked, straining my bat-like ears.

“Joc! Over here, old chap!” he howled back, somehow managing to sound both terrified and posh at once.

Adrenaline propelled me toward the sound, until the unmistakable figures of Watson and Coco emerged from the gloom. They were huddled together by The Dapper Dog Salon, which was ominously dark, decked in cobwebs rather than the latest canine couture.

“Watson, Coco, what’s with the horror show?” I inquired.

Coco quivered, her usual elegance gone. “It’s Duke… he’s disappeared!”

“And we were too chicken to look for him!” Watson added, giving my rubber chicken an accusatory glance.

“It’s time to play hero, guys,” I said, puffing up my muscular, though modestly sized, chest. “Let’s fetch Duke from whatever ghastly fate has befallen him!”

Embarking on the most harrowing adventure Pawsburgh had ever known, we formed an intrepid trio, venturing into the fabled Cavalier Cove—legends whispered it housed spirits of seafaring Spaniels from ages past.

Steeling ourselves against the terrors that might lurk within, we made a pact to stick together. But even the supernatural seemed to crumble beneath the power of our friendship and bravado—or maybe it was the ghostly Spaniels, who found us more amusing than alarming.

At the heart of the Cove, we discovered Duke—not in the clutches of a ghostly apparition, but rather, snoring peacefully beneath an ancient tree, his no-nonsense Labrador self perfectly intact.

Upon awakening, he grumbled about a walk turning into a nap, meanwhile we wagged tails of relief and shared a hearty, if somewhat nervous, chuckle. “Well, that was almost too exciting,” Duke remarked, bemusement in his old eyes.

“Tell me about it,” I agreed, ready to trade horror for the warmth of a sunbeam back home. But, you see, in Pawsburgh, you never quite know what adventure—or misadventure—awaits around the next bend.

The End.