Hey Mom,

Just thwarted a dog-napping in Pawsburg – Enzo’s safe now! Dive-bombed by starling messengers, strutted through Bloodhound Bluffs, cracked Collie Cassandra’s riddles, and sneaked Enzo out of a spa-gone-sinister! Home soon for cuddles and to dish on the deeds. Adventure’s afoot but Bronson’s on top! 🐾

Love, B. Buns

Listen to the story here

Bronson, am I, and I’m galloping down the cobblestone of Terrier Town, heart racing, with every step commandeering a bit more urgency. Just moments ago, lounging in the verdant embrace of my backyard, a chipper starling swoops in, a hush-hush emissary from Pawsburg, dropping the news that ruffled my fur and set my journey in motion. Enzo, fiery spirit in a teacup frame, pinched right from under our noses. So it’s, wind beneath paws, a peanut butter bone’s ghost still on my tongue, but that’ll have to wait.

“There’s been a dog-napping,” I bark breathlessly to Captain Whiskers, the regal Siamese who mans the helm at Spa for Paws. He doesn’t bat an eye, preternaturally calm, tail flickering Morse code for “Time to saddle up.”

The route’s a zigzag through Bloodhound Bluffs, and I’m on it like a hound on a scent, only without their knockout noses. I’ve got grit. And half the dentition. The bluffs cast loom and mystery, shrouded in legend and mists, and my dear friend’s somewhere out there in the clutches of who knows what mongrel-hearted cur. I can’t shake the image, Enzo, probably cleaning his own darn ears out of sheer boredom.

Through the murmurs of Pawsburg, information trickles in. Cassandra, the clairvoyant Collie from Pet Partners Pet Supplies, spoke of shadows shifting suspiciously near Canine Cafe. Her words wrap around me now. “You’ll find a clue where the water laps but never swells.” Cryptic yet oddly compelling. No time for a Nyla bone chew on that, we’re bounding ahead.

I spearhead this mission with a morale boosted by the flanks of friends baying the anthem of the righteous; the Shih Tzu’s wisdom and the Labrador’s loyalty—they know Enzo’s captor has blundered. You don’t snatch a comrade from Pawsburg and expect pardon.

Poodle’s Pasta, where did that come in? Right, the rendezvous point, an ally there has word of a trail. A sip of water from the bowl outside—sparkling clean, unlike the business ahead, as murky as a mystery in a Sherlock tale. And blueprints, courtesy of a sympathetic pug with a penchant for architecture, unveil a route less trodden, towards Eskimo Estuary.

Where’s my monologue? The one where I chew on the nature of friendship, loyalty—an existential medley seasoned with a touch of basil and a dash of anticipation. Another time, perhaps, for I am meant for action today. Words can wait—their home, the warm lap of my nighttime snuggle, the pen and paper of my dreams.

Enzo’s probably irked, I muse, the indignity alone enough to fray his dapper scarf. We squeeze through the alleys, paws picking up as the scent grows stronger. There’s the estuary, waters singing their secrets, and the clarity of Cassandra’s prediction—Enzo’s across the way, locked in The Pooch Playhouse, of all ironies. A spa day turned sinister.

An ensemble of minds collides, schemes hatch. Smashing through the front door isn’t our motif; no, we’re the covert contingent. A Great Dane with an oversized heart and undersized fear occupies the guard, his bumbling a thing of genius.

The door gives way beneath practiced paws, silent as a moonbeam, and I am face to face with my pint-sized pal, Enzo’s eyes firing up like sparklers. Freedom, sweet canine elixir, we gobble it up with tails twirling like propellers.

Mission pawsible? Ladies and gentlemen, with paws and resolve, chums like mine, and a town that whispers its secrets through bloodhound ears and cockerspaniel sniffs, ain’t no such thing as impossible. Just another dusk or dawn in Pawsburg, where every dog has its day and every day its dog. Enzo’s safe, more boastful than ever – and just wait until I tell you about the return journey.

The End.