Hey Mom,

Snuck off to Pawsburgh amidst a mystical kerfuffle; solved the case of the reality-bending puppy with Junebug. Back home now; quite the tail, I mean tale! Adventure’s a walk in the park for this Bear. 😎

Paws and reflect,
Bear Bear

The hush of twilight had fallen over the human world when I, Bear, usually more loyal than a grounding wire, embarked on a clandestine trot. The truth of the matter is, I’m a cockapoo with a nose for the peculiar, and tonight the gate to Pawsburgh stood ajar—an invitation I could scarcely refuse. With a jaunty wag, I left behind my earthly backyard realm for Onyx Otterhound Oasis, where adventure no doubt waited with bated breath.

The stars winked knowingly as I passed Vizsla Valley, the air rich with tantalizing scents I usually only dreamed of chasing. Schnauzer Street bustled with a curious energy, as if the very cobblestones anticipated the arrival of something extraordinary. And extraordinary I indeed sought, along with a good plate of beef jerky, if at all possible.

Pawsburgh was abuzz with whispers of a mysterious phenomena—flashes of light, floating kibble, and inexplicable squeaks in the night. I couldn’t attest to having witnessed such peculiar events myself, but my inherent bravado nudged me to investigate. Call it cockapoo’s intuition or sheer curiosity—whichever it was had been reliably poor at keeping me out of trouble.

I saluted a group of terriers at Paw Pad Thai, their tails a thumping chorus line, and declined an invitation to Paw-lickin’ Pancakes. One does not embark on supernatural sniff-outs on a full stomach, though the reminder of how pancakes glistened under syrup nearly swayed my resolve.

“Not seen anything strange, Bear?” asked Lupo, a Doberman of supposedly fearsome reputation but secretly as cuddly as a lamb’s wool sweater.

“Not yet,” I replied. “But the night is still a pup.”

Taking a moment to peep through the windows of Best in Show Photography, where posh poodles posed, I considered whether such odd occurrences needed my intervention or just a good picture. The Snooty Snout Boutique offered no insight either, but I fancied a tartan collar that would certainly accent my blonde luxuriance.

With a hearty sigh, I trotted on, my red squeaky bone a comforting weight in my coat—a knight’s sword indeed. There was a faint sound, soft as a butterfly’s hiccup, when suddenly it hit me.

A rippling shimmer danced across my vision, and I stood, tongue lolling from my jaw, before the most bizarre sight outside of a cat doing algebra. A portal! A radiant gateway shimmering with what was undoubtedly doggy magic—or perhaps indigestion—but no, definitely magic.

As if compelled by the pull of the universe or the scent of my human’s slippers, I lurched forward, but not before a familiar figure slinked beside me.

“Junebug,” I gasped to the grey feline who had followed the scent of adventure—or perhaps just me—out of her usual lounging spots.

We shared a moment, her green eyes and my eager ones staring into the swirling vortex, both pondering. Then, together, we leapt.

The world that greeted us was a cacophony of sights and smells, reminiscent of the time I had inadvertently eaten a helium balloon. Gratuitous amounts of missing socks dangled from trees and a cascade of half-chewed tennis balls flowed.

With our paws planted firmly on this enigmatic turf—mine more firmly than Junebug’s, mind you—we began our investigation. Pawsburgh, it seemed, had many more secrets than shops and restaurants, and the evening promised to unfurl them one by one.

In the end, we discovered it wasn’t so strange after all, just the workings of a lost puppy with reality-rippling hiccups. And as I settled back in my backyard as dawn painted the sky, I divulged nothing of my odd odyssey; only a big, contented bear who had feasted on a bone, Junebug’s company, and the peculiar magic of an otherworldly adventure.

The End.