Hey Mom and Dad!

Just wrapped up my latest night-time thriller – turns out I’m the unofficial guardian of Weimaraner Woods now. After confronting a legit ghost and a vacuum (you know, the scary kind), I’ve saved our supernatural stomping grounds. High-paws all around and snagged us the title ‘Heroes of the Night’. Definitely a tale for the record books – will fetch details later!

Catch you on the fluff side,
Ony Extra 🐾✨👻

Listen to the story here

In the heart of Weimaraner Woods, where the trees whispered secrets older than the oldest dog’s tale, I, Onyx, stretched my legs, ready for another twilight escapade in Pawsburgh. Buddy and Bentley, my Bulldog brothers, had scampered ahead, promising a rendezvous at Rottweiler Ridge. The air was thick with mystery tonight, and my coat gleamed under the crescent moonlight, the white of my chest and paw more pronounced than ever.

My blue ball, a treasured companion through countless backyard battles, was tucked under my arm as I passed by Bark-n-Bite Bistro. A faint growl of hunger rumbled in my gut, but there was no time for distractions—the supernatural waited for no dog.

“Evening, Onyx,” spoke an elder Golden Retriever from behind the counter of Husky’s Hotcakes. His jowls drooped with years of wisdom, and his eyes sparkled with something unfathomable. “Be cautious tonight. The woods are… different.”

The word gripped me like the dreaded vacuum at home, sending a shiver down my spine. My paw paused mid-step, and then I flashed a confident grin. “Thanks for the heads-up. Different is my middle name, you know?”

I did not wait for an answer and made haste towards Pyrenean Peak. As I approached, the wind seemed to sing with a ghostly howl. Were the woods communicating? A flicker of doubt flashed across my mind, yet I sauntered on, the thrill pushing me right to Rottweiler Ridge, where my brothers awaited.

“Late as always,” Bentley barked with playful judgment as the three of us congregated.

“Can’t rush perfection, my friends,” I quipped back. Some might call it arrogance; I call it Bulldog confidence.

“What’s on the agenda?” Buddy asked, tilting his head to one side.

I looked around warily and lowered my voice. “Weimaraner Woods is… alive tonight. Let’s see what secrets we can unearth.”

Before Buddy or Bentley could protest, a spectral figure emerged from the shadows. A hound, or what used to be a hound, its fur translucent against the night.

The ghostly dog spoke with an unearthly echo, “I am the Guardian of Weimaraner Woods. You must help me.”

Our Bulldog jaws dropped in synchrony, a moment of disbelief washing over us. “Help you how?” I managed to bark out. Bentley trembled like a leaf in a hurricane; I could tell he was rethinking the whole ‘adventure with Onyx’ thing.

“The vacuum of souls plagues our woods,” the spirit whimpered. “You must find it, confront it, chase it out.”

With the courage that only a Bulldog—or in my case, three—could muster, we nodded silently. I wondered briefly if any treats awaited dogs who banished vacuums of souls, but mostly I was all about the glory.

Venturing deeper into the forest, the darkness grew dense, and the silence, profound—still waters at dusk I could handle, but this quiet was unsettling. My playfulness might intimidate fluffy tail-waggers at The Pooch Playhouse, but here, it felt dwarfed by the enormity of our quest.

Out of nowhere, a monstrous whirlwind of darkness reared up. The vacuum of souls! It roared a challenge. I knew then, dear human friend, that my unwavering loyalty and protective instinct were all in for the toughest test.

“The ball, Onyx! Use the ball!” Buddy yelped over the cacophony.

Instinct took over. I charged, blue ball at the ready, and hurled it into the swirling abyss. The void quivered, shook, and with a final, petrifying screech, imploded.

Silence fell. The magic of Pawsburgh had prevailed.

We returned to the ghost dog, heroes of the night. “Thank you,” it murmured, dissipating into stardust.

Exhausted yet triumphant, we promised to dine on the finest grub at Dachshund’s Deli in celebration. But as the night surrendered to dawn’s approach, I felt it. This was more than an adventure to tell our owners; it was a Bulldog’s tale for the ages, whispered among the spirits of Weimaraner Woods forevermore.

The End.