Hey Mom and Dad,

Just your Beagle babe, Bella baby girl, checking in. Did you know your cuddly little girl turned into the hero of Pawsburgh? While you were out, I pulled a ‘Home Alone’ at the daycare and single-handedly outsmarted two would-be thieves with nothing but my wits and a skunk toy – true story! 😉 The Doggie Daycare is safe, thanks to moi. Can’t wait to get extra treats for this one! Curling up with my toy now, but there’s quite the tale waiting for you. 🐾

All my tail wags,
Bella baby girl

Listen to the story here

Oh, the decadence of Pawsburgh in the midst of its own yuletide delirium, if dogs did indeed indulge in the festivities of folly that humans so often lose themselves within. But this evening, this crisp whisper of winter’s breath, my tale takes an eccentric bound into the extraordinary. There I was, Bella, the illustrious Beagle, sleek as a fox and brave as a lion, strapped in the fur of my tricolor coat.

Pawsburgh, a retreat, a beatnik’s poetry come to barking life, rose with the golden moon, while the two-legged kind was away gorging on their gaudy festivities. Fleeing the dull humdrum of earthy existence, I, too, carved my path into that barking Bard’s town to weave the tales I would eventually grace my parents with.

But fate, that jester, played a different hand. It put me in the heart of The Doggie Daycare—the very marrow of its bones—with not a soul, no sweet Mya or delicate Misty for company, but the silent ambiance and watchful eyes of stuffed reindeers decked in red and green ribbons.

And there I should have remained, perhaps dreaming of Fido’s Feast, where the promise of a savory Blue diamond biscuit could sway even the staunchest dieter, when the cacophony of the unsolicited entangled in my ears. A duo of clumsy cats? Oh, no. Intruders, much worse, a pair of foolhardy humans, most likely spin-offs from some off-the-road carnival act, drawn to the solitude of The Doggie Daycare with intentions clear as the morning air.

“They’re closed! Gone home,” they bickered in their abhorrent dialect of humanspeak, but their paws—hands, if you will — spoke the sinister language of theft and pillage. Opal Pomeranian Park was where the mutts mulled over life, not thieving.

I had no militant Mya to summon, nor the gentle giant Millie to cast an imposing shadow. No, it was but I, Bella, cradled in the fluorescent fortress with my wits and a Funky skunk toy, ink-dark as night with a tail white as the first snow.

I channeled the fervor of Hound Heights. I was my own warrior, sails raised against the audacious gust. I scurried soundless through the shadows, my doe-like ears perking with each sibilant syllable these human trespassers dared exhale. Upon the approach to Mastiff’s Meals, I released a barrage of barks to conjure the illusion of a canine legion. And what a sight I must have been—a Beagle barricade, a hound of one’s own defense.

Their steps faltered and stumbled ‘neath the blunders and bewilderment as I continued my grand charade. Every echo of paw hitting linoleum was a trotting battalion, and by the time they crossed the perilous threshold of the Briard Bridge that led nowhere, their nerve shattered like a dropped jar of Chowhound’s Chophouse finest gravy.

As the sirens wailed like neglected banshees, and the foolish pair surrendered to the awaiting arms of The Bluecoats, a serene dignity settled upon my fluff-caked belly. Their clumsy paws, once desiring so eagerly to filch the joy of our sacred borough, now wished nothing more than to flee the terror of a single, valiant Beagle.

My tail wagged, not with the glee of ignorance or the satisfaction of validation, but with that quiet self-assurance that comes upon dotting the final ‘i’ in the continuous manuscript of dogged days. For I had defended my fortress in Pawsburgh; survived The Doggie Daycare heist.

When my parents returned, they found me, the vigilant sentry, curled upon the hearth with my Funky skunk. They suspected nothing, seeing me for the small companion they loved, not comprehending the grandeur of my solo escapade—how I dashed and danced and hurled the forces of wit and will against the cloak of night. Oh, what a story Bella had to tell.

The End.

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