Hey Mom,

You wouldn’t believe it, but I channeled my inner guard dog last night and saved “The Bow-Wow House” from burglars! Used my size as stealth and my bark as my weapon. Just call me ‘Tanker Man’, protector of Pawsburg by night, your cuddly furball by day. Feels like I lived out a chapter from a quirky dog hero novel!

Love,
Tanker Man 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

So it goes, I found myself in a peculiar pickle on a Yuletide eve, quite the muttplot twist you wouldn’t believe. I’m Tank, by the way, and I’ll be your narrator through this shaggy-dog tale. You know me: small guy, big heart, hefty bark. And do I have story to gnaw on for you, from right here in Pawsburg.

That crisp winter night, as the moonlight danced on the cover of newly-fallen snow, my pals Stormy, Bandit, Salty, and Aero nuzzled into the warmth of their humans’ hearths. Me? I was in the kennel, at “The Bow-Wow House”, an establishment that caters to us canines when our beloved humans vacate the premises. I was enjoying a particularly nice dog biscuit – leaned into the crunch, taste savored on the palate, you know how it is.

Then, it happened – the silence of the night was broken. I ought to mention that I regarded myself as the unofficial guard of this establishment, my small size belying the tenacity of a beast thrice my shape. The scent of strangers wafted in the air, an olfactory story of two legs, not four – intruders. They’d forgotten to wipe their feet on the way in. Uncouth, resembling in spirit the dreaded vacuum cleaner, the pair fancied they could ransack “The Bow-Wow House” on this, the silent night. But they hadn’t counted on one thing – me.

Creeping through the twilight, belly to the ground, I navigated past the sleeping forms of my companions. I mean, someone had to do something, right? And there I was, full of biscuits and bravado. I must say, the pair, in their own bumbling way, were almost charming. They rattled off Vonnegut quotes to each other, mistaking his words for festive banter.

“Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt,” one of them whispered, knocking over a can of kibble. The metallic symphony shattered the peace like a poorly composed overture.

The other shushed his chortling friend, “Quiet, man! We don’t want to wake the hounds.” Well, too late for that, hombre.

I took a dramatic stand, my shadowy outline atop the catwalk, my stage. “If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is,” I declared. The thieves stopped in their tracks. My voice wasn’t much, but I’ve learned volume is no match for moxie.

The tackle was swift – now, I’m a lover, not a fighter, but like Vonnegut’s Billy Pilgrim, I had become unstuck in time. Except I was unstuck in Pawsburg. One moment I was poised; the next, I was a blaze of fur and fury.

A frenzy of barks, a scurry of paws, and some well-aimed nips sent the two-legged bandits tripping over their feet and out the door. As I watched their retreat with a pride-filled chest, I knew Kurt would’ve penned this moment with a wink and a smile: “And so it goes,” I mused.

Morning sauntered in on the tail end of the night. The sleepy staff found me dozing on the now untidy floor, small but mighty guardian angel of “The Bow-Wow House.” The tale of my nocturnal escapade spread through Pawsburg faster than Aero when he hears the kibble hit the bowl.

When the humans came to collect their noble companions, they were none the wiser to the soirée of shenanigans. But the whispers among us dogs spoke of my heroics. With my tail wagging, I sauntered home with my human, my tale as full of flavor as the biscuits I so love.

There I go, small package, big story. Soldiering on. Just another day in the life, here in Pawsburg.

The End.

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