Hey Dad! Just a quick note to let you know I’m on an adventure, doing my usual thing of wagging tails and melting hearts. Helped the Johnson kid find his giggles after a tough day and might have scared off the old mailman a little too enthusiastically, but all in all, just spreading love and muddy paw prints all around. Who says a pup can’t be a hero? 🐾 – Peppa Puddle

I found myself ambling along the delightful avenues of Spencerville, each step whispering memories of a place that wasn’t quite here yet not too far away, either. East Bulldog Bay sparkled in the distance like a gleaming gem, and I could almost catch the scent of Red Beagle Beach at this peculiar hour, which made my heart wag a bit more cheerfully. Yet, despite the daylight gaiety around me, something squeezed at the essence of my most canine nature—a peculiar puzzle box I’d found under an ancient Elm tree in Dalmatian Desert.

“Why on dog’s green earth did I—” I barked out loud, contemplating my boundless curiosity. It all started with my large, perpetually smiling muzzle and those ears that catch secrets from miles away. I was traipsing through the sandy waves of Dalmatian Desert, chasing the mirage of a sock monkey toy. The kind that remind me of my daddy, always ready with a belly rub.

But everything changed when I nosed my way into the puzzle box. A box not made of wood or bone, but something between shadows and dreams, each side etched with little intricate paw prints that glowed mildly in the twilight—a peculiar, beguiling charm for a bravely stubborn, shyly curious dog like me.

Suddenly—polter-paws and fanglorious frolics! Demonic dogs! Creatures that seemed to spring forth from the box, growling with a gusto much more befitting a vacuum cleaner’s roar than any self-respecting pooch! They seemed none too pleased, nor tremendously evil, mind you, but just irritably interrupted from their eternal pursuit of ball and bone.

“Who let the dogs out, indeed?” I quipped with an inner barking laughter, though the question was rhetorical.

The first one, whom I secretly called SnuffleGruff, had the grim demeanor of a rain-soaked mailman. “Pepper,” he woofed with a tone that could freeze liver treats, “We’ve come to fetch your dreams.”

Well, I wasn’t having any of that, not from some demon who’d probably been scratching the wrong turf for attention! I summoned the spirit of my brother River, who, in another life, loved me with the strength of a thousand tug-of-war ropes.

I remembered how many times Daddy would work at the door, and how much I’d blanket-nest to watch him. Those memories made the paltry threat of dream-thieving pale in comparison. More importantly, it reminded me of Chicken. I adored Chicken. In all its forms. Especially after playtime at Furrific Fried Chicken, where indulgence was served on paws. Surely, if love made bad days better, Chicken would make demon dogs deliciously appeased!

“Besides,” I reasoned to SnuffleGruff, “if dreams made tails wag, they were meant to be shared with not-so-snarly friends.”

The demonic pack paused, puzzled—perhaps tempted by the scent of Chicken more than any philosophical repartee I offered. I had, after all, said it with the kind of sincerity reserved for late-night cuddles with Daddy or sunbathing near the Dalmatian Desert, in the coolness of fondly-remembered days beside salty waters.

As the eerie fog around Dalmatian Desert lifted, SnuffleGruff and his crew began reluctantly returning to whatever scratching post of the universe they hailed from, their furious growling now reduced to indignant mumbles about ear-cleaning and loud noises.

Yet as they faded, they left a promise—a soft echo. “We shall await your sojourn, Pepper. In play, might we find our truest bark.”

The message stayed, like ear-tuft snow, perhaps because in Spencerville, verdant and whimsical, where shadows and sunshine braided their fur together, having one’s dreams pursued by demon dogs was simply another canine adventure.

And so, with the thought of Chicken and belly rubs, zenlike tranquility reigned as I trotted to Whiskers and Wings for a leisurely chat with kindred spirits, my demonic escapade nothing more than another tickle of a tale in the grand story of Pepper, friendly, loyal, affectionately goofy, and curiously, always just shy of trouble.