Hey Mom,

Crazy night! Turned detective to find Chubz who was ‘missing’. Ended up on a spooky wild goose chase through foggy Pawsburgh, faced ghostly whispers and creepy alleys. Plot twist: it was a Halloween gag by the fur gang. All safe, chilling post-adventure. Dogs and their pranks, huh? 😅🐾

Berk the Brave

Once upon a chill and moonless night in Pawsburgh, I, Berk, a Turkish Kangal of some renown, found myself nosing about the shadowed paths of Akita Alley. Humanfolk stories paint such nights in hues of horror, where every creak and whisper masks some spectral specter. But us dogs, we know darkness as but the other side of day—a realm ruled by scent and sound, not sight.

A cool breeze, ladened with foreboding, whistled through the alley. Despite my sturdy frame and bold heart, I could not dismiss the cloying sense of something awry. ‘Twas a night for tales by the hearth, not lonesome patrols. And yet, Chubz, a bulldog as loyal as he is stout, had not returned from his evening romp. Honor and friendship bid me seek him out, lest he fell prey to some unsavory mischief.

Creeping toward Newfoundland Nook, a dense fog slithered across the cobblestones, thick as the wool on Sheepdog’s back. Here, the air held whispers. They weren’t the jovial yaps and yips of my brethren but rather the low murmurs of unrest.

Upon entering Kelpie Keys—a place of legend—my fur bristled. Dogs steer clear, preferring the warmth of Chowhound’s Chophouse. There be old spirits in Kelpie Keys, or so the elders howl. But no, braveChubz would not find himself ensnared in such superstitions. I pressed on.

The shroud of mist parted, revealing the iridescent sign of Pup’s Paella. But it was naught like the bustling eatery I knew. Its windows were dark as a starless sky, and from within, a queer, shuffling noise echoed. An icy paw seemed to grip my heart. I fancied I heard my name, carried on the wind in a voice not of this earth.

Swallowing my fear, only to find it had the taste of turkey, I pushed through the door. A lifeless quiet hung in the air. Tables and chairs lay overturned, and in the corner, a battered toy—uh-oh, ’twas Stuffed Lambsy—abandoned.

I ventured deeper, the scraping growl of my own cautious steps setting my nerves a-jangle. That’s when I glimpsed him—a figure cloaked in veil of fog and mystery, perched upon the counter.

“Berk,” it breathed—a monumental chill ran down my spine, “seek the light, lest the darkness consume thee.”

I barked, my voice a deep and sonorous sound that could summon my human from the deepest slumber. But no reply came. Only the re-emergence of the noises—of gnarled claws on wooden floors. I dashed outside, the lure of familiarity spurring me toward my own backyard, through the forests and across the pristine beaches.

I spotted it then—the fog dissipating around a glimmering beacon: Spa for Paws, aglow with an otherworldly radiance. A sanctuary, or so it seemed, from the nocturnal terrors that pursued.

Crossing the threshold, my protectors stepped into view. Chubz, Binx, and Lilian, trifles of concern etching their brows. They told a tale of a prank most foul—the town dogs stirred into a frenzy by Chubz’s strange disappearance, now found snug in his bed, a scheme to ignite the Halloween spirit in us all.

As the golden rays of dawn broke the lingering vestiges of nightmare, we lay sprawled upon the floors of Best in Show Photography, recounting our haunted adventure amidst barks of laughter.

This tale ends, not with woe or fright, but with a fellowship strengthened by the shared fabric of courage—and a Kangal’s dogged resolve. And though the genre of horror may not be native to the hearts of us canines, we know the truth: There be nothing more hair-raising than the threat of losing one beloved friend to the veil of the unknown.

The End.

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