Hey Mom, just wanted you to know I helped a lost kitten find its way home today. Made some new friends and even got a few belly rubs out of it. All in a day’s work for me! 🐾

Lovebug

As the clock struck midnight and the humans drifted into their dreams, I, Louie, the long-haired Jack Russell Terrier, embarked on my nightly sojourn to Pawsburg. My perfect mane bounced as I trotted past a slumbering Michele Miller—known to me as ‘mom.’ Humans always marveled at my white coat with black patches around my tail and head, speckled with whispers of brown. But in Pawsburg, such features were as common as Internet trolls on Michele’s blog.

You don’t choose the mob life; the mob life chooses you. At least, that’s what my buddy Johnny—a feisty Poodle with a penchant for pasta—always said. Johnny and I grew up in the same neck of the human world, and now, here in Pawsburg, we ran the streets like bark-ing dons. My nickname? “Little Guy” doesn’t do me justice. To my crew, I’m “Louie the Loyal.”

Tonight’s meeting was at Poodle’s Pasta, a classy joint with an ambiance even Frank Sinatra might envy. We had business to discuss—namely the Terrier Tacos turf wars. As I strutted into the restaurant, my 17-pound frame might not seem imposing, but my bark commanded respect. Everyone knew I was as brave as a debutante picking a fight on prom night.

Inside, the dim lighting cast long shadows over a table of familiar faces. Mia, our intelligent German Shepherd strategist, had a sharp mind that snapped like a trap. Johnny, ever the energetic one, wagged his tail in greeting. Lucy, an affectionate yet fierce Golden Retriever, offered a nod.

“Good to see ya, Louie,” Johnny woofed, brushing a paw through his curly fur.

“Let’s get down to biscuits,” I said. “What’s the latest from Ruby Rottweiler Ridge?”

Mia tapped a paw on the wooden tabletop. “We’ve got word that Bruno, the Rottweiler boss, is planning to extend his kibble distribution through Terrier Tacos. That’s our turf.”

Bruno, that slobbery mutt! I’d dealt with his kind before—loyal to their packs but too greedy for their own collars. My mind raced faster than a squirrel evading capture.

“I say we send a message,” Lucy growled, her golden fur bristling with resolve. “A visit to Pomeranian Park, where his henchdogs like to chill, might do the trick.”

We were a family, but this was business, and threats to our turf had to be handled with a firm paw. “Agreed,” I said. “But not before we scout Harrier Harbor. We need to know their escape routes. Leave it to me and Mia.”

The night crept along as Mia and I made our way to Harrier Harbor, the moonlight casting ripples on the water. The cool breeze whispered tales of escapades and romances, but we were all business tonight. My ears perked up—there it was, the unmistakable laughter of Bruno’s gang.

“Mia, flank left. I’ll take the right,” I whispered, motioning with my nose.

As we approached, tails low and ears pinned, I caught sight of Bruno. The hefty Rottweiler laughed, munching on bananas—a favorite snack of mine, ironically. What a parody! Did he think he could waltz into our town and take what’s ours? Not on my watch.

“He doesn’t even chew his bananas,” I muttered in disgust as I glanced at Mia, who rolled her eyes in agreement.

We lurked in the shadows, waiting for the opportune moment. It didn’t take long. Bruno’s crew scattered at the sight of a phantom squirrel—amateurs!

“Now,” I barked softly. We revealed ourselves just enough for Bruno to see. His eyes widened.

“Louie,” he rumbled. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“We’re everywhere, Bruno,” I replied coolly. “Remember that next time you meddle with Terrier Tacos.”

He slunk away, a look of newfound respect and fear shadowing his eyes. As Mia and I sauntered back, victorious, thoughts of my other life crept in. Morning would come soon, and Michele would wake. I’d have to hide my mob ties behind playful eyes, a wagging tail, and misplaced shoes.

Back in our world, I nuzzled into Michele’s lap, pausing for a moment to lick her hand. Little did she know, her “Lovebug” led a double life, balancing family cuddles with fireside plots.

But then again, no one ever said a dog’s life in Pawsburg was simple.