Hey human-sidekick! Just saved Pawsburgh’s treasure trove of treats from a duo of doggy delinquents with nothing but my Chorkie charm and a few cunning capers. They didn’t stand a chance against this pocket-sized protector. Tail wags and victory cuddles awaited as Mrs. P returned. Another notch on my collar; another mythic tale for the hydrants. 🐾 – Abby, the Petite Protector

Listen to the story here

First off, let’s get one thing straight. Pawsburgh isn’t your average walk in the park. It’s an exclusive, tail-waggers-only kind of town where the fire hydrants are basically scrapbooks of canine history and every mailbox is a potential treasure trove of… Well, you know.

Names Abby. I’m what you’d call a Chorkie, which means I can sneak into places that would make a cat jealous. And my fur? Let’s just say if it were a painting, it would hang in the Louvre. I live with Mrs. Penelope, who embodies the phrase ‘heart of gold.’ But even golden hearts need a break, and she had taken one this holiday season, leaving me in the care of Happy Tails Kennel — a fine establishment, save for one minor detail: it was about to be intruded upon.

So here I was, almost enjoying the solitude when, in true heist movie fashion, I spotted two would-be intruders scoping out the kennel. They had that “we’re up to no good” vibe, like they just walked off the set of a low-budget crime flick. Nose to the ground, I skulked behind a row of kennels and overheard their master plan. They were after the treasured treats of Pawsburgh — the culinary delights of Puppy Patisserie, the savory scents of Terrier Tacos, even the hearty chows from Mastiff’s Meals. When they boasted about their “foolproof plan,” I almost laughed. Foolproof? Pawsburgh’s treats are guarded more fiercely than the queen’s jewels.

These guys were amateurs, but they were about to find out I was the maestro of mischief. Scampering back to my private suite — a fancy term here for my cozy kennel — I had to hatch a plot that was a little Home Alone, a little Pawsburgh pizzazz.

The first booby trap? A trip to The Woofy Bakery for some not-so-savory treats. I sprinkled the tasteless-as-cardboard delicacies along the trajectory of their alleged “stealthy” approach. Like a scene straight out of a silent movie, they tiptoed toward the kennel, their mouths watering at the thought of their ill-gotten gains. The first crunchy bite stopped them dead in their tracks. Dogs might not have refined palates, but even the crows would turn their beaks at this cuisine. Disgust contorted their faces, which in any other context would have sent me into fits of giggles. But Abby had work to do.

Next, let’s just say Diamond Doberman Dunes isn’t famous only for its glimmering sands. They’re slippery when unsupervised. As they neared the peak of their triumph, thinking themselves unnoticed, the dunes under their feet gave way like a stock market crash, sending them tumbling in a fluster of commotion.

And for the final act? Pawsburgh may be a dog’s paradise, but it’s also a place where friendships can be very… enlightening, especially if you’re friends with the street lamps. A subtle bark here, a coded tail wag there, and voilà! As our bumbling burglars made one last dash for it, they were bathed in the sudden glow of streetlights. What’s that saying? The brightest stars burn out the fastest? Well, they were definitely going nowhere fast.

When Mrs. Penelope returned, I was praised for my heroic antics — and you bet I milked it for extra cuddles. The tale of Abby, the brave Chorkie defending the spoils of Pawsburgh, would be whispered about at every hydrant and lamppost. And those two intruders? Quite the story they’d have to tell about a pint-sized pup with the heart of a lion and the wit of a comedian. Let’s just say they won’t be trying to steal the spotlight in Pawsburgh again.

The End.