Hey Mom,

Just wrapped another wild day in Pawsburgh – turns out I’m on the tail of some gourmet jerky drama, with Big Red stirring the pot. Swung by the Chimichanga joint for intel and now I’m off to the Pooch Playhouse for the grand finale. Life’s a bark and then you dine! 🐶🔍🥩

Kisses and tail wags,
Willow

The city of Pawsburgh, not Raskolnikov’s St. Petersburg but perhaps just as enigmatic, where the fire hydrants never turned rust. It was the kind of place where a dame like me, Willow by name, could strut her stuff without much fuss. The day had sprung up gloomy, a real pea-souper fog hovering around Pinscher Plaza, and it carried the kind of chill that whispered trouble.

I’d just ambled out of The Dapper Dog Salon with my coat glistening, a smoky shade against the watercolor sky, when the scent hit me. Jerky. Not your run-of-the-mill backyard variety, but the good stuff – it was no secret The Howling Husky carried the primo cuts. My stomach grumbled in anticipation, but a dame like me had to play it cool. This was Pawsburgh, a dog-eat-dog world if ever there was one.

Slipping by the Snout Snacks establishment, I made my way to Chihuahua’s Chimichangas for a lead. The joint was jumpin’ with the lunchtime crowd and the air was thick with the aroma of spices and sizzling delight. I gave my usual nod to Chester, the flat-cap-wearing Chihuahua behind the counter, and moseyed over to a corner booth.

“Whaddaya hear, Whaddaya say, Willow? The usual?” His voice was as buttery as the pancakes at Paw-lickin’, but I wasn’t here for a social call.

“Skip the chimis, Chess. I’m here on business,” I murmured, locking my baby blue-grayish eyes on his. “Heard anything on the grapevine about some grade-A jerky making the rounds? I’ve gotta sniff it out.”

Chester wiped a paw across his muzzle, all mock secrecy, before leaning in. “Word on the street is Big Red’s back. He’s hawking top tier stuff – say it’s from some clandestine chew-meet up at Shar-Pei Shores.”

Big Red, the notorious Irish Setter known for peddling the purest jerky this side of Pawsburgh. This was no penny-ante operator; if Red was involved, it meant things were about to get hairy.

I thanked Chess with a wag and darted out the door. Shar-Pei Shores was but a howl away, and the game was afoot. I dodged a sprightly Yorkie pup who had been yapping at my heels since Dachshund Dale.

The shores were deserted, save for a looming figure at the pier’s edge, enveloped by fog. Big Red. I approached warily, every sense on high alert, paws padding softly on the damp wood.

“Willow,” Red’s sandpaper voice greeted me without turning. “Was wondering when you’d catch my scent.”

“I’m just after the jerky, Red. I’m not looking for a scuffle,” I said coolly, my heart racing like a Greyhound at the track.

He finally turned, his coat a vivid burnished flame against the monochromatic backdrop. “Everyone’s after something, doll,” he smirked, “But this jerky? It ain’t for sale. It’s for a special occasion.”

I bristled at that. Life was a special occasion, wasn’t it? Every good girl deserved a treat, especially after a hard day sniffing out leads and racing through alleys.

“A clue then, for an old friend?” I ventured, my tail swaying with the lilt of my voice.

Big Red chuckled, that deep canine chortle that promised trouble wasn’t far off. “Alright, Willow. The jerky you seek? Its source—you’ll find it waiting where the playful yaps echo at the close of day. Where the little ones run with the might of wolves.”

The Pooch Playhouse.

As I bounded off into the mist, I couldn’t help but smile. A day in the life of a canine in Pawsburgh—filled with intrigue and whispers of culinary treachery. Big Red might’ve been the city’s guardian of gourmet jerky, but me? I was its four-legged sleuth, navigating the murky waters one sniff at a time. And as the shadows grew long and the city lights flickered alive, I knew underneath this woolly hide beat the heart of an adventurer, fuelled by loyalty, love, and the promise of a paw-lickin’ good time.

The End.