Hi Mom! Guess what? I’ve been quite the hero today—found a missing shoe, chased away a pesky squirrel, and discovered a new nap spot under the sun! Just another day in the life of your vigilant pup. 🐾 Love, Mills.

It was a typical afternoon in Pawsburg, which means it was anything but typical. We were ankle-deep in a caper involving Sniffer’s Sandwiches and a rogue vacuum run amok—an all-paws-on-deck kind of day, folks. Now, let me start from the beginning. I’m Millie, the black tri merle Olde English Bulldogge with a palette of colors that would make a rainbow jealous: black, grey, white, and fawn. Also, my eyes? They’re hardly inconspicuous—one’s a sky-blue peeper, the other deep brown.

As the paw patrol enforcer of our magical town, which is perfectly situated between Labrador Lane and Chow Chow Circle, I’m tasked with keeping Pawsburg safe and occasionally sniffing out lunch. My pal, Mica the Boxer, also chipped in, though she tends to leave the hard-thinking business to me.

We’d barely nosed our way into Setter’s Steakhouse for a plate of chicken delight (my kryptonite) when we heard the chaos echoing all the way from Papillon Promenade. Airborne kibbles … distressed yap-yaps … and the unmistakable ruckus of a vacuum cleaner claiming all territories. “Millie!” barked Mica, her jowls quivering with the sort of urgency one normally reserves for trash can invasions.

Let me tell ya, I abhor vacuum cleaners. They’re loud. They’re hungry. They’ve got wheels. But Pawsburg wasn’t going to rescue itself, and this was no time for my phobias to grab the leash. After a quick maneuver where Mica threw her Sid Sloth stuffy (her brainchild bribe tactic) to divert a duo of rowdy Poodle pup bystanders, we embarked upon our heroic deed.

The vacuum, whom I’ve drearily dubbed “Vex Vortex,” had single-handedly taken over Rover’s Retreat Spa. I’d never seen a room more redecorated with chaos and fear. Thankfully, the scent of terror was more than eclipsed by the calming lavender aromas, which kinda helped keep my fur in its usual couture curl.

“I thought they were extinct!” barked Mica, recalling the daylong expedition we launched to exile the last of its kind. “Hold your fetch!” I commanded, tilting my head just right to see Vex Vortex embedded in an innocent sea of relaxation. We had to act fast.

Before I could bring the full weight of my smarts to bear, inspiration struck. Tug-of-war, a favorite pastime of mine — why not give this surly vacuum a tug? Gripping its overly long tail in my famed dental grip, known across Pawsburg at full-force fetch events, I encouraged rhythmical tug pulls. Mica, catching on, added her excellent boxer-bounce jumps for emphasis.

This is where my ordinarily finicky appetite for chicken came into play. Promise of a post-heroic feast granted me newfound strength, enough oomph to thrust our nemesis down Affenpinscher Avenue, only to be intercepted by Oscar, the oversized Newfoundland with a penchant for order. Order restored, vacuum subdued.

With the fiend pacified, I peered at the sunset over Blue Basenji Bay. Relief echoed across barks and belly-up rests throughout town. And as for me, delivering harrowing tales to our humans with unwavering detail would earn us Mica’s choreographed triumph howls that night.

As everyone resumed their peaceful antics, serenading Pawsburg with laughter and gratitude, I trotted down Papillon Promenade, Vex well behind us, awaiting what I imagined would be our most savory chicken supper yet. Remember, in Pawsburg, cunning friends, delightful toys, and delectable treats are all a prelude to ordinary nights turned extraordinary, and tomorrow? Tomorrow was surely another story.