Hey Mom,

Just saved our human world from the Sock Dimension and became a Cinderfella legend with Daisy! Crazy day. Your slippers and jerky are safe. Catch you on the sniff side!

Love,
Gunner the Runner 🐾✨

Dearest human, have you ever wondered where your socks vanish to or how your favorite slippers find themselves in sinister rendezvous under the couch? Well, let me, Gunner, your loyal German Shepherd confidante, regale you with a tale that unveils such mysteries. It all began on a regular Thursday, or, as they say in Pawsburgh, “Throwback Toy-day.”

There I was in Vizsla Valley, the breeze ruffling my majestic black and tan coat. “So, what’s the agenda for today?” Whiskers asked, her whiskers twitching with that tabby sense of superiority. Yes, cats have their niche there too, shocker, I know.

“Perhaps chasing our tales of youth?” I suggested with my famous stoic charm. But before Whiskers could roll her green eyes at me, an extravagant flyer, scented like beef jerky – my Achilles’ paw, mind you – flew slap-bang into my noble schnoz.

“Last chance to enter the ‘Fetch the Fairy Tale’ contest at The Wagging Tail Bookstore!” I read aloud. The game was simple: fetch a book from the Fairy Tale section, read it, and live it.

Daisy bounded over, a golden blur of misguided enthusiasm. “Gunner! Let’s team up! You’re brainy and brawny, and I can… bark encouragingly?”

Together, we padfooted to Sapphire Schnauzer Street. At Husky’s Hotcakes, we refueled on pancakes topped with gravy – a culinary chef-d’oeuvre for the canine palette, and nixed for humans because of, well, digestive dignity.

Inside The Wagging Tail, a sea of tails thumped against the ground creating an almost hypnotic rhythm. “Go on, Gunner,” Daisy nudged, “fetch us a winner!”

So it happened that my amber eyes fell upon “Cinderfella,” a classic with a twist, and a smirk spread across my muzzle. Mindy Kaling would be proud of this humorous fate. Without hesitation, I snatched the book and off we went on our grand adventure.

According to the story, we needed to find an animal helper. But definitely not that raccoon Bandit. We both knew better after the ‘unspoken incident.’

We headed to Cavalier Cove, the waves lapping at the shore in mellifluous conversation. “We need a Fairy Dogmother,” I said. And just when it seemed our quest was in vain, there she was—the Fairy Dogmother—in the form of a distinguished poodle with glasses perched comically on her snout.

With a wave of her grooming brush, she “bippity-boppity-booed” us into a tale of magic. We had to attend the Royal Ball at Pup’s Paella, where a dashing Prince Poodle would bestow a collar of honor upon the “Chosen One.” The mission was to retrieve this collar before midnight—otherwise, poof! No more magical shenanigans, and possibly a transformation into a pumpkin, which is a truly absurd gourd, even on a good day.

Decked out in sparkles—because, let’s be real, if you’re going undercover magical style you don’t just go plain—they fit snugly over my red rubber ball. That ball became our glass slipper. We joined the pawty, where I even sniffed out a plate of savory beef jerky, abstaining from the banana slices laid out (an utter affront to taste).

As the grand clock tower struck eleven, the Prince Poodle spotted the ball’s red sparkles. “The Chosen One!” he barked. Daisy and I exchanged a glance. Was this our happily ever after? Not quite.

We needed to race against time or be trapped in midnight’s spell. It was a hectic scramble of paws and sequins, and well, let’s just say I now understand how your slippers feel.

So here we are, back to normal—or as normal as Pawsburgh ever gets. All your socks? Ah, they’re safe and sound, part of a crucial trade treaty with the Under-the-Bed Trolls.

And the moral of the tale, dear human? Always stay vigilant, for in between snoozes and tail wags, there lie wonders untold—especially if there’s beef jerky on the line.

The End.