Hey Granny 👵✨,

Just saved Daisy, the town’s laughter-light, from a dognapper’s clutches! 🐶🦸 Remy, Lassie, and I were quite the trio against the shadows. I led them with a waggle and a ruse; we’re safe, tails wagging with tales of the night. Will share the epic with cookies? 🍪

Hugs & sloppy kisses,
Ollie 🐾🏆

I whistle through the wind, dancing paws beating the cobblestone, black and white among the gold and emerald that is Pawsburgh after sunset. My four white socked paws zip through Topaz Terrier Town, a blur of mirth. I have a mission tonight, tightly wound in my ribs like the spring sun coiling against the chilled remnants of winter dusk.

Barker’s Bakery flanks my route; oh, the scent of toasted biscuits waged war against my resolve. But tonight, the luring wafts of sizzling bacon from Husky’s Hotcakes don’t dissuade me. There’s urgency chomping at my flanks as I chase through Pinscher Plaza, sending a cascade of whispers through the shadows, my shadow a swaying crooked grin.

They say ‘heroes aren’t born, they’re cornered.’ Never thought much of it till Daisy got snatched. She’s one of us—a raucous Collie, whose laughter ripples through this very town—a tremor in the paws of all that walk it. Cornered, eh? Ollie is cornered—right against the fear that gnaws at the marrow of Pawsburgh’s bones.

“Remy! Lassie!” I bark, my voice an octave above the midnight buzz, “We’ve got no time to roll in Daisy’s dreams, she needs us—now!” There they stand, ears perked, Remy the Bulldog, a boulder in the current, and Lassie, the Greyhound, swift as a rumor.

Into Emerald Eskimo Estuary, we plunge, a trio of defiance. Our paws are declarations against the ground. The river whispers, sluggish in its cold bed. “Ollie’s on the move again,” it seems to say to the reeds.

My friends, they know the drill. Time is dog treats left too long in the rain; useless if you don’t snap it up quick. We near the lair where whispers twisted like squeaky snakes—you know how I adore those—tell us Daisy is kept. The scent of threat hangs acrid, not at all like the tang of sea salt on my favorite beach.

“Remy, keep to the shadows. They’ll mistake you for a pot. Lassie, your legs are best served fast, so you’re on lookout. Me? I’m the distraction.” The versatility of the star-studded sky can’t hope to outshine our ploy.

The old warehouse looms tall, the air inside certainly never whisked with savory pastries from Barker’s or pages turned in The Wagging Tail Bookstore. Yet now, it’s a trove of wrongs needing righting.

I waggle my hind, the momentum of a hundred chuckles, as I prance forth, full of false cheer. “Hellooo, scoundrels!” The ruse, as simple as my love for car rides, is heavens’ delight.

Chaos is a ladder and distraction a catalyst for a chorus of confusion, as voices rise and shadows shift. “What’s this mutt doing here?” A guard’s gruff voice betrays his panic. Others are on their tail; I hear their muddled growls, each a sour note in the sweet symphony of the night.

Then the whisper, no louder than a leaf’s caress upon the water, “Go!”

Daisy bounds free, her captor’s grip a forgotten fear. Remy leans like a fallen pillar against the door, and Lassie flits through the shards of moonlight, spirited as the Northern winds.

We race back, veterans of a victory that dances hot in our chests. Those squeaky snakes wait—oh, joy—for the heroic tale of tonight, and Pawsburgh sleeps, unaware of the valor between its hushed breaths.

Food for my palate, stories for my heart—these fuels enkindle the hearth of my adventurous spirit. The telling’s for another day. For tonight, the revelry in granny’s startled, sleepy eyes is all the feast I need. A tale to be savored, a victory to be shared, Ollie’s mission—a success well declared.

The End.