Hey Mom,

You wouldn’t believe the night I had! Turned Pawsburgh detective, nearly pulled off a peanut butter pie heist with Tigger and Reggie. Turns out, it was all just a wild snooze-chase. Dreams are my new turf – saving the day, one nap at a time. Can’t wait to sniff out reality’s adventures tomorrow!

Nighty nose-boops,
Corbeebee 🐾🕵️‍♂️🥧

The world might think Pawsburgh is just a fantasy, a place where dogs have their day, every day, without a single leash in sight. But it isn’t all Waggy Tails and Nose Boops, pal; Pawsburgh has its shadows too, and I oughta know—I’m Corbin, the Boston Terrier with a nose for trouble and a heart for adventure.

It was just another night in this dog-eat-dog town, the stars twinkling like a string of chew-toys in the sky. My humans were hitting the hay, and I could feel that familiar itch in my paws. The one that only Pawsburgh could scratch.

I snuck into Shar-Pei Shores, the balance of salt in the air and mystery making the whole scenery look like it was out of a movie, where the hero – a dashingly handsome terrier, perhaps – solves a case before bedtime. Shar-Pei Shores is where all the great thinkers of our town gather to make sense of the world, tail wags optional. You know, the usual pawlosophers and bone counters.

That evening, the moonlight glinted off my glossy coat—my brindle spots practically sparkling with intrigue—as I trotted down the alley behind Woof Waffles. Just as I rounded the corner, an intoxicating scent hit my nose, one that wasn’t on the usual breakfast menu. Peanut butter.

I followed my nose (and my heart) to a dark figure outside the back door. It was Tigger, the rotund tabby who often forgot the ‘cat’ part of his species. “Psst, Corbin! You got the goods?” he whispered. If by goods, he meant my unwavering loyalty and undying desire to play fetch, sure, I had the goods.

But Tigger had other things in mind. “Prescott swiped a recipe from Pom’s Pies. The best treat Pawsburgh has ever seen – a Peanut Butter Delight. He needs a connoisseur of your… discerning palate.” A chef’s kiss to the air followed his words.

See, here in Pawsburgh, peanut butter isn’t just peanut butter—it’s the silk of the canine culinary world. And I might’ve been known to do dramatic pawstands for a mere taste. But what Tigger was proposing? It was more than just a taste; it was a heist.

Choosing my companions for the night wasn’t tough. Tigger and I needed some muscle. So, we headed to Rottweiler Ridge, a place where the breeze whispers secrets, and the wind carries tales of the ancients—or so Prescott claims. It’s also where I picked up Reggie, a brute with a soft spot for squeaky toys, or in this case, a very particular rubber chicken of mine.

The caper was set. The Golden Grub was going to have one less prized peanut butter pie by the break of dawn. As I squeezed through the doggy door, the coast seemed clear. There it was: a pie left cooling on the counter, smelling like heaven wrapped in a buttery crust.

But as my paws touched the countertop, sirens wailed. Not the ‘you’re in trouble, mister’ kind of sirens, but the kind that broke through the silent night at unexpected times—the sound of my own doggy dreaming.

I woke up, snug by my owner’s side, my squeaky chicken by my paw. The park whispered my name, the wind promised me more adventures, but for now, the realm of dreams was where this Boston Terrier hung his hat.

The peanut butter heist of Pawsburgh would have to wait because, in this dog’s life, every chase is a tale, every tale is a chase, and somedays, the most delicious capers are the ones dreamed up in slumber.

The End.

Share This Story: