Hey Mom! 🐾✨ Crazy night – got mistaken for a pupnapper, got thrown in the pound (a real doggone mix-up!). 😳 But no bars can hold your Topo! Orchestrated a pawsitively epic escape with underground pals. Back with my furry crew now and all paws are safe. 🚓🐕‍🦺💨 Also, we gotta talk about this missing pup story over breakfast… it’s a howler! 🧇🕵️‍♂️ Love, Gigio 🐶❤️

Listen to the story here

One might call it the Night of the Great Escape, when I, Topo Gigio, faced the gravest injustice. But let us dial back time’s hands to just before the clock’s sly chime. Pawsburgh. A town so congenial, where dogkind roam in sheer delight, and yours truly, the charming Aussie with the tricolor coat, am something of a local legend.

Samoyed Square bathed in the moon’s silver grace, Huck and Millie by my side. “A bit of nocturnal frisbee, Topo?” Huck always did possess a keen sense for sporting adventures. But before my reply could leap from my tongue, the night took a turn most foul.

The hushed whispers of conspiracy were afoot, and before I could proclaim my innocence, the bluecoats had descended upon us. A pup, it seemed, had gone missing, and I–good old Topo–found myself the scapegoat of this sordid affair.

Whisked away in the unjust grip of suspicion, I found myself confined within the cold bars of the Pawsburgh Pound. It was an establishment as incongruous with the outside world as tuna atop a dessert. Alas, my innocence meant little to the steely-eyed collie behind the desk.

Four walls, a floor, and a small cot–call it my cell but never my home. The unsavory symphony of barking and clattering chains echoed my deepest fears from the dog park, yet here I was, amid the ruckus.

“Now, now, Topo, let’s not fall to despondency,” my inner voice chided with the humor of my stubbornness. Indeed, there was a plan to be concocted, an escape to be orchestrated.

A connoisseur of canines I may be, but the likes of Pawprint Pizzeria and Pom’s Pies held no succor. Huck and Millie, those loyal hearts, awaited on the other side. The plan, not unlike a frisbee’s trajectory, needed precision and a dose of my famous playfulness.

The escape was no frivolous romp across the fields, it was necessity, a measure of last resort. I called upon the agility of my kind, the sprightly wits that accompanied my tricolor brilliance.

The hour approached as I enlisted the help of a sympathetic spaniel, a chap with an overbite who operated an underground–quite literally–network called ‘The Groom Room.’ By day, a purveyor of fine canine cuts, by twilight, a Houdini for the wrongfully accused.

And so it happened, beneath the watchful stars, this Aussie sprang from the confines of injustice. Through tunnels dug beneath The Howling Husky Hardware Store, under Cocker Courtyard, and past Rottweiler Ridge, I moved like a thief in the night.

Pawsburgh, oh Pawsburgh, never had it seemed so sweet, the air so fresh, the freedom so intoxicating. The warmth of Samoyed Square welcomed me back, and there stood Huck and Millie, tails wagging in frenzied joy.

“Topo, you old rogue, what a caper!” they exclaimed as I recounted my venture, a tale that shall be told in hushed tones over plates at Woof Waffles.

As morning’s light stretched across the horizon, I trotted back to my human mom, to where my heart yearned to be. A snuggle awaited, a silent promise of safety.

You, dear friend, must believe that I, Topo Gigio, am many things–loyal, playful, and affectionate–but never a scoundrel. My great escape was but a chapter in the tale of my life, a footnote in the pawsome adventures that embroider the fabric of Pawsburgh’s rich tapestry.

And what of the missing pup, you ask? Ah, that’s a story for another moonlit night.

The End.