Hey Fam 🐾,

Just another day being Testing, Pawsburgh’s undercover tail-wagging detective! Foiled a squirrel-run Dogecoin scam with sidekick Rosie, saved the town’s economy, and still made it back in time for dinner. Not your everyday walkies! 😎🦴

Catch ya on the flip side,
Baxter “Testing” The Lab 🕵️‍♂️🐕

Listen to the story here

So it goes, in the harmonious canine utopia of Pawsburgh, dogs lead double lives; none perhaps more intriguing than mine. To the untrained eye, I was merely Baxter, the jovial Black Labrador with the mischievous-white-grin patch on my chest and a tail that wagged to the rhythm of an untamed samba.

One drowsy afternoon, while the Harpers believed I slumbered, I ventured through the doggy door, a gateway to my other life. Terrier Town buzzed with the gossip of a new biscuit bank heist, Pointer Pier sailed with whispers of smuggled steak strips, and Mastiff Meadows bloomed with the scent of clandestine kibble plantations. Even with my sturdy frame, I moved with the sleekness of a shadow through the secret streets of Pawsburgh, for my job there wasn’t merely to fetch and frolic, but to sniff out mischief and crime.

Not that I ever objected to my grilled chicken or beef jerky on Earth, but Collie’s Cuisine served a mean lamb tagine that could seduce you into forgetting your own tail. Though the food was good, I came for intel. My buddy Charlie, ears swept back with urgency, reported strange activity at The Woofy Bakery—the aroma wasn’t of baked treats but conspiracy.

“Somethin’ ’bout that place… it’s whiskered deep in hush-hush,” he barked, carefully cloaking his tone with the din of the dinner crowd.

With a solemn nod, I troted to The Woofy Bakery. But as I approached, my heart sank. My beloved, the haven of sweet delights, stood but a skeleton of its frosted past. “Closed until further notice,” the sign read, dangling with a sullen crookedness as if it too, was ashamed of harboring secrets.

Tail (though still samba-ing) now fueled by resolve, I loped to The Tail Wagger’s Tailor where crime stitched itself into the fabric of every unlawful outfit. Rosie, rival, and partner, flashed her whiskers at my entrance.

“One meow for breaking and entering,” I said, with my tongue hanging out in anticipation of the heist plot.

She rolled her eyes – an eloquent feline gesture – and yet, we danced the clandestine waltz side by side. Infiltrating the bakery required tact. A dog might possess certain… advantages that a cat might not, but traversing air ducts wasn’t one of them.

Under the moon’s watchful eye, we sprang into the bakery’s heart, the scents betraying their guise. No sugar, no butter; only the mechanical musk of machines printing counterfeit Dogecoins. The culprits? Squirrels – my eternal nemeses clad in masks and utility belts, busy undermining Pawsburgh’s economy.

Rosie created a ruckus, her caterwauling a symphony of strategic distraction. I pounced, snagged, and we retrieved the evidence – a sack of fraudulent currency spilling its treachery.

The revelations unfolded quicker than one could dig up a hidden bone. Turns out, the flustered fox terrier who owned the bakery was a pawn in the squirrels’ syndicate. Pawsburgh’s underbelly was a sprawling web of illicit activities, invisible to the contented dwellers who roamed its sparkly streets.

Heroes we may be, Rosie and I, and as the day peaked, I reclaimed my canine simplicity and she her feline indifference. But beneath our domestic exteriors, we were defenders of Pawsburgh’s integrity. With our tails high and spirits higher, we reveled in the sun’s embrace, side by side as mismatched guardians until I heard the Harpers pull into the driveway, signaling the end of another adventurous escapade.

So it goes, in the life of Baxter, the Labrador with a penchant for crime-solving and the taste for both worlds – earthly and mysterious.

The End.