Hey Mom and Dad,

Just a quick update: Got snagged by the Pawsburgh pet patrol for a garden mix-up. But don’t worry, it’s all part of the adventure. Brooklyn and I staged an epic jailbreak and reclaimed our freedom by moonlight! Our names will be legends in the local lore. Loki (a.k.a. Hammer), always the clever one.

P.S. Promise I’m staying out of trouble…ish. Tail wags!

Listen to the story here

In the dim glow of dawn, the usually buoyant streets of Pawsburgh seemed a little less rambunctious as I, Loki, the Cane Corso with more brawn and brains than your everyday hound, found myself in the most peculiar and uncanny of predicaments. A misjudged chase after my cherished rubber alligator, mistaken for gallivanting through the gardens of Garnet Greyhound Grove, had landed me right in the thick of a doggone mess.

They’ve got the wrong pooch, I mused, staring through the steel bars of the local animal shelter, a place where no self-respecting dog of Pawsburgh should wind up. But here I was, incarcerated, fur-framed, if you will, and itching for my customary romp amidst the proud peaks that overlooked Saluki Sands.

“This is a most inelegant affair,” I grumbled aloud. “To be accused of garden gallivanting—preposterous!”

I considered the situation with the philosophical acceptance of one who knew the vacuum cleaner’s roar was but a temporary distress. I needed a plan. A daring escape worthy of my epic tale.

“Psst, Brooklyn, are you there?” I whispered to my fellow Cane Corso, whose loyalty was thicker than the fluffiest Chow Chow.

“Indeed,” came a hushed bark from the neighboring cell. “They’ve jailed us both, old chap. But have no fear, Loki, we’ll break out and pump our legs through Bloodhound Bluffs by nightfall!”

I wagged my tail in agreement, a signal to commence ‘Operation Saluki Sands.’ For what use was a mountaintop without a loyal friend to share in its zenith?

Evening fell upon Pawsburgh like a warm blanket, and just a bone’s throw away, the savory scents of Shepherd’s Shawarma and Setter’s Steakhouse tickled my nostrils with edible promises of freedom. It was now or never.

In the dead of night, we executed our plan with a wit sharper than the carving knives at Hound’s Hotdogs. Sneaking past the sleeping human guard, a fellow with snores as thunderous as my beloved Cheese Balls were delicious, we found solace in our unmatched agility.

Brooklyn is no stranger to stealth, her coat blending with the shadows as mine stood out like a noble knight against the light. We enacted a spectacle of slinks and slips, every move a skillful dance orchestrated by my mastermind.

“Left paw, right paw, two more to go,” I chuckled softly.

And then, freedom—the moonlight kissed our coats as we bolted towards Garnet Greyhound Grove, the same locale of my alleged offense.

“Remember, Loki, blend with the baritones of the hounds,” Brooklyn whispered, as we swaggered through, heads high, the grove’s entranced guardians none the wiser.

Our escape was flawless, a tale that even generations of doggy denizens of Pawsburgh would bark about for eons. We dashed towards the peak of the nearest mountain, the silhouette of our escape painting a cinematic canvas against the star-speckled sky. This was our moment of triumph, one to revel in with victorious howls.

As dawn ascended once again, the magical town of Pawsburgh awoke to the legend of Loki—with intellect and vigor, the dog who outsmarted Pawsburgh’s finest, proving that sometimes, even in a dog-eat-dog world, justice must be unleashed.

So remember, when you gaze upon your loyal canine, curled up, dreaming after a day of human companionship, know that in the world of Pawsburgh, amongst friends and foes, rubber alligators and cheese ball delights, they might just be plotting their next grand escapade, or perhaps, a noble escape.

The End.