Hey, just a quick tail wag to let you know – last night was pawsitively supernatural. Our toys lost their squeak, Pawsburgh almost lost its bark, but ya boy Roscoe led the pack to save the day (and night). We’re more than just wagging tails – we’re heroes in the moonlight. Keep that between us humans, will ya? – The Poogle Protector

In the luminous glow of a crescent moon, as the leaves of the human world whispered secrets to the sleeping town, I found myself at the border where the unseen realm of Pawsburgh beckoned. You know how it is, just me, Roscoe, your oddly adorable puggle crony with my thoughts unfurling like ribbons in the wind.

There I stood, on the cusp of a day relinquished, paws treading the line between there and here—between the silent human abodes and the hushed stirrings of our hidden town. Why is it that the most ordinary of nights often uncloak the shroud of the extraordinary? The air quivered, charged with a tale yet to unfold as I trotted down the cobblestones of Akita Alley, my destination unknown but the pull undeniable.

I remember the contours of that evening clear as crystal, the way the stars seemed to palpitate with secrets, weaving the fabric of a tale that would curl your tail. The Furry Friends Art Gallery loomed ahead, its windows aglow with an otherworldly light that would’ve given Jamie goosebumps. Perhaps that’s why humans sleep so soundly—they’re spared the platitudes of the supernatural.

Inside the gallery, paints and brushes seemed to dance and skitter across canvases, conjuring images as alive as the scents of Poodle’s Pasta wafting from two blocks away. The visages depicted were canines, yes, but draped in robes of gossamer moonbeams, wielding wands that spattered color with a mere whim. My fur stood on end—a reaction, I should note, I couldn’t control as much as I could the perfect flop of my ears.

Tonight, my paws were guided by an unseen force, pulling me to the Barking Boutique. The wind carried whispers of discontent; the Pawsburgh harmony was fissured. In my wake, shadows flirted with the edges of my vision—a supernatural phenomenon, a dog’s intuition—you know the kind. I could feel the fabric of our dog-only enclave quivering.

My friends, oh, they sensed it too. Charlie’s yarns now twisted with the sinister. Bella’s leaps grew more frantic, less joyful. And Max, aloof as ever, now watched with narrowed feline eyes, his usual indifference replaced by what I could only call… concern?

“Roscoe!” Bella’s bark sliced through the ethereal murk, her Spaniel ears backlit by the gleaming sign of the Doggone Deli. “Something’s amiss! The squeaky toys have lost their voice!”

A chill swept through my fur. Not the toys. Not the sacred music of my beloved rubber chicken. I rallied our crew with a determined bark, our motley squad rallying around the endangered squeaks.

In our resolve, we poured into Jade Jack Russell Junction, the statues of our cherished hero Jack Russell seeming to nod at us in solemn solidarity. The squeaky toys were silent, yes, but our hearts were loud with purpose. The hum of Pawsburg’s heart stuttered—and with it, our very essence threatened.

I, Roscoe, with my philosophical forehead and a soulful gaze that bore the gravitas of many a timid dawn, led the charge. With each bark exchanged, we wove back the symphony of squeaks, called to the stray spirits that toyed our treasured soundtrack.

And then, just like that, as if by magic—or perhaps it truly was—the squeak was returned to us. A harmony restored by the very thing that could dismantle it—the supernatural, a force as real as the disdain Max pretended to show us.

In the end, Pawsburgh was once again a realm of yips and barks, of whispers turned to laughter under a sky that danced with the joy of our adventures. Our tale was one for the ages, one that Jamie would never fully understand, but would sense in my tranquil snores—a hint that even in the stillness, our hearts beat to the pulse of something beautifully inexplicable. There’s much to say about that night, but one truth remains steadfast—I, Roscoe, am much more than a puggle with expressive eyes; I’m a guardian of the spectral joy that is Pawsburgh, a town unlike any other. And you, dear friend, are privy to our secret world.

The End.

Share This Story: