Hey human, it’s your brave and sometimes bed-dragging companion, Molly. Today’s tail–I mean, tale had it all: a Persian in peril, Pug Mafias, and Boxer Bandits with a taste for éclairs. But have no fear, my furry paws were on the case, and together with Max, we untangled the mess. Sophie’s safe, though I may have used up one of my nine lives (do dog lives count in threes?). Oh, and remind me to tell you about our “Mission Pawssible” over some tasty treats. Paws and reflect, Emma – your snoozing sidekick has been quite the K-9 caper-cracker! 🐾

Wags and winks,
Molly (alias Teddy)

Listen to the story here

Oh, what a caper! As I, Teddy, made my clandestine escape through the squeaky gate to the utopian society known as Pawsburgh, my paws tingled with anticipation. The sun was high above Doberman Dunes, and in the world where two-legs rule the roost, my human Emma slumbered in dreams of princesses and dragons – not unlike my cherished toy.

Now, in Pawsburgh, tales of daring escapades flood the streets like a well-poured bowl of chicken broth. And this one, which I admit I was a nervous participant of, began on the tail end of afternoon, beneath the sherbet skies of Ruby Rottweiler Ridge.

“Teddy! Report to Pomeranian Park on the double! It’s Code Biscuit!” Max’s howl cut through the bark-to-bark grill chatter of Fido’s Feast. Already the jest of the command had my tail conducting an optimistic waltz.

Sophie was missing – a fact that led me to sprout the sort of frown generally reserved for a whiff of citrus. A Persian cat in a dog’s town, gone? And on my watch?

Max was rather frantic. “She was last seen at The Dapper Dog Salon,” he informed me, “and you know how she loathes getting that fluffy tail of hers under any sort of scissors.”

Indeed, Sophie’s disdain for grooming was as notorious as my weakness for a choice cut of chicken breast. Yet her daring escape from The Dapper Dog Salon was not the work of her usual avoidance behavior. No, this time, she hadn’t been the one planning an elaborate getaway.

“I gotta say, Max,” I panted as we marched, “our clandestine meetings are starting to affect my enjoyment of The Howling Husky Hardware Store. I’m half expecting to find a secret door behind every stack of chew toys.”

“My money’s on the Pug Mafia from Doberman Dunes,” Max whispered, paranoia icing his words.

The Pug Mafia was a tidy collection of compact, grunting dogs with eyes so bulging you’d swear they’d memorized every secret in town.

As twilight stroked the horizon with its purple brush, a silhouette limped across our path. It was Sophie, her fur rustled, her gait uneven yet determined.

“Sophie! Who did this?” I asked, the hint of a growl lacing my usually melodious yapping.

She coughed, her blue eyes blinking twice, slowly, before whispering, “Cat-snatched by the Boxer Bandits. They wanted…the ultimate grooming secret. But I escaped their bristled clutches at Pawfect Pastries.”

Max and I exchanged a glance that conveyed both relief and disbelief. Faced with kidnappers, Sophie had outwitted her captors and freed herself with the elegance of a true Persian.

“They were after the new line of feline flavored éclairs,” I mumbled, the absurdity of it all tickling my snout, “You’d think they’d never tasted chicken before.”

“So, Mission Pawssible?” Max nudged, his eyes gleaming with that familiar lighthearted mischief.

“I guess you could call it that,” I smirked, wagging my tail, visions of my much-anticipated reunion with my squeaky blue dragon already dancing in my head.

In our little hidden canine haven, the currency is loyalty and adventure, and refunds are not demanded. Emma may never wake to the full breadth of my escapades with Sophie and Max, but as we licked our wounds and lapped up chicken soup at Canine Cafe, the stories we would spin for our humans would carry the very essence of our secret lifesaving missions.

And I, Teddy, ruffian of sun-dappled corners and devoted chaser of blue dragons, lived to frolic another day.

The End.