Hey Jamie,

Just saved Pawsburgh’s Great Pie Contest with my super sniffer and some DIY heroics. Channeling our old window seat vibes to fix ovens & bake victory pies! The tails wag in gratitude. Miss your cuddles though 😔🐾

Paws and pies forever,
Bailey 🐶💕

Listen to the story here

On any given day, my ears flicked towards odd whisperings of the wayward wind brewing stories of doom in the air. But the day the Big Shake happened, even those ears, grand as they are, couldn’t foretell the world’s tumble-down-dilly of an overhaul. In a world gone topsy-turvy, where the human footprint was all but a mere smudge on the sidewalk, we dogs found our way to Pawsburgh.

Ah, Pawsburgh! A doggy utopia of sorts; where the hydrants never ran dry and the postal workers… well, they used to run the fastest. Indeed, it was the town where every canine could strut their stuff without a care, barring the absence of our beloved humans.

I am Bailey, Pawsburgh’s own, and if I may say so, quite the fetching French bulldog with ears that’d give the satellite dishes at NASA a run for their money. My days here have morphed into an almanac of adventures, in which I’ve unwittingly become the protagonist, much to the delight and occasional dismay of my companions.

The sun had just scorched a familiar path across the sky when I strolled into Vizsla Valley, my spirits as high as Lhasa Lane’s elevation. Yet, today the blissful barking of play was replaced by a palpable hush. Ziggy the Whippet dashed up to me with an urgency that spelled trouble.

“Bailey! The sniffer’s network says there’s trouble at Pom’s Pies,” he barked. Now, Ziggy, known far and wide for his speed, could only be overtaken by his own rapidly circulating rumors. So, naturally, I took it with a grain of kibble. Still, the notion of our beloved pie haven in jeopardy set my heart aflutter.

Through the howl and hollow of The Howling Husky Hardware Store, and past the desolate shelves of Pet Partners Pet Supplies, we sprinted until the savory scent of sadness led us to the scene of the commotion.

There stood Pom’s Pies, a shadow of its former delight. A hodgepodge of dogs surrounded the place, big eyes pooled with worry. Gertrude, typically an emblem of stoic feline fortitude, was atop a bin, her whiskers twitching with concern.

“Bailey,” she purred, daintily. “It’s the ovens. They’ve conked out. And the Great Pie Contest is today!”

How could such calamity befall our Pawsburgh? I pondered while my stomach rumble quietly underscored the severity of the situation. Pup eyes turned to me, pleading.

What’s a merle-coat Frenchie to do, eh? A dog’s gotta eat, and a town’s gotta have its pies. And so it was that the curious case of Bailey and the Broken Ovens commenced.

A plot unfolded as we trotted to The Howling Husky Hardware Store. My grand ears, erect as ever, caught murmurs of forgotten tools and forsaken gadgets. I rummaged through cogs and wires, my usual snout for treats repurposed for mechanical marvels.

With deft paws and a bit of dogged determination (cue the tail wag), I harvested what was required. Thankfully, my days observing Jamie’s do-it-yourself antics in that other lifetime were about to bear fruit.

Back at Pom’s, a frenzied flurry of fur and flour ensued. Dogs of all trades rallied. Ziggy whizzed by with pie crusts, while others brought fruit from Puppy Plate. With Gertrude’s guidance (magic, if you ask me), we harnessed the power of the sun – nature’s ancient oven – rigging up a solar contraption just in golden hour’s nick of time.

The sun dipped, the judges licked their lips, and the pies, oh, the magnificent pies! They emerged victorious from the sun-kissed contraption, born anew out of the ashes of Pawsburgh.

As the day waned, with the Great Pie Contest saved and my reputation as an unwitting handydog secured, I nestled down in Vizsla Valley. My thoughts turned to Jamie and our bygone window seat cuddles, a bittersweet solace amidst the triumphs amidst this post-apocalyptic canine society.

Whispers of wind couldn’t reach me here, for the comforting aroma of victory pies prevailed, and my ears? Well, they finally got some rest, collapsed beside me like sails after a big blow, listening only to the gentle sounds of a town that could sleep soundly, even without its human lullabies.

The End.