Hey Mom,

You won’t believe it, but Kemper and I turned into ghostbusters tonight in Weimaraner Woods! Confronted our fears (and one spooky Ghost Hound made of, get this… canned peas – my nemesis!). Story for the ages, can’t wait to share. No vegetables were eaten in the making of this adventure 😂 Home soon, tail still wagging!

Love,
Mags 🐾💖

Once upon a dusk in Pawsburgh, that delightful span when the sun nods a sleepy goodbye and the moon isn’t ready to punch in for the night shift, I found myself strolling down to Amber Akita Alley. My paws danced on the cobblestones, a rhythm only my heart understood. The night air was a culinary delight; the scent of Setter’s Steakhouse mingling with the yeasty whisper from The Woofy Bakery. I snorted in delight, flicking my brindle tail.

But hark! What was this new tang in the tapestry of aromas—reek of sulfur, perhaps? Something odd for sure. Not a common constituent of the evening bouquet in good ol’ Pawsburgh. My ears, those that make Dobby look positively human, pricked up. Something supernatural was afoot, and afoot was where I usually found my kibble, only this didn’t smell like kibble.

Kemper the one-eyed spaniel met me by The Pooch Playhouse, his look one part excitement, two parts fear. “Magnolia!” he yipped, barely above a whisper. “There’s talk of a Ghost Hound haunting Weimaraner Woods!”

“A ghost?” My earnest brown eyes widened. I had never seen a ghost before, and even the temptation of kibble couldn’t rival my curiosity. “A real spook?”

Kemper nodded, his ear flapping with the motion. “As real as a chew toy. Barking echoes, glimpses of cloudy tails, and a chill that makes your fur stand on end.”

I considered. I dislike loud noises. But if this ghost was about to raise the woof with its racket, who better to investigate than a Boxer mix with a penchant for adventure? Steeling my nerves, I said, “To Weimaraner Woods, then!” What’s life without a good romp through mysterious timber, right?

With paws barely touching the ground, we set off. My athleticism was the stuff of canine legend; every twist and leap filled me with a certain joy. We paused at Doggone Deli, where I hastily devoured a quick nosh—kibble, of course, with its predictability a soothing touchstone against the unknown awaiting us.

We plunged into the woods, those towering sentinels of mother nature’s guard. My bravery was marred slightly by trembling whiskers although, to be fair, the wind was particularly nippy. Kemper’s mismatched eyes shone ’round with mischievous moonlight as we padded deeper into the gloom.

An owl hooted, which—translated into human—probably sounds a lot more sinister than, “Look at the two daft mutts looking for spooks!” But we heard it all the same and hastened our step.

Then, it happened.

A growl bubbled from the shadows. Kemper and I exchanged a glance. Defiantly, I booped a nearby leaf with my paw before facing our fears head-on. Supernatural indeed—I could feel it in my dewclaws.

The growl rose again, closer now, and I trembled—but not from fear. Okay, maybe a bit from fear. However, in my heart, a different orchestra played; excitement, wonder. Perhaps, even a spot of… fun?

“Arooo!” I howled the ghostly call. Discovery, even the haunted kind, was adventure too. We darted forward, and there! In the moonlight, there it was—the Ghost Hound!

Closer we crept, and then—the shimmering specter turned to us. Canned peas, it seemed to say. Vegetables as ghostly dogs? That’s a twist even I couldn’t have barked up in my wildest dreams.

“Kemper, are you seeing thi—”

“—The peas?” Kemper’s voice quaked. “Magnolia, you’re terrified of veggies.”

I laughed, the sound cutting through the eerie silence of the woods. True to form, the ghost had chosen my least favorite thing. Supernatural events in Pawsburgh were as full of quirks as its day-dwelling residents.

But stories—those we would tell, of the Ghost Hound haunting the woods, with canned peas for ectoplasm. I wagged the nub of my tail, ready to dash home and recount our ‘haunting’ with glee. But perhaps after a quick stop at Barking Brunch for a well-earned treat. No vegetables, of course. Let’s not make the evening too spooky.

The End.