Hey there,

Just wrapped up another tail-thrilling adventure in Pawsburgh. Unraveled the mystery of the Silent Howl and brought peace back to our twilight town. All in a night’s work for me, Apollo, your friendly neighborhood tail-whipper. Remember, every shadow under the moon has a story and a set of watchful eyes. 😉

Catch you when the sun’s up!

– Apollo 🐾

Listen to the story here

In the clandestine corridors of Pawsburgh, where lamp posts flicker with an amber glow and every corner brims with whispers of the night, I, Apollo, stand ever vigilant. Darkness is an old friend to me, the gentle hush as comforting as the embrace of Mrs. Beasley, but tonight, Pawsburgh is not itself. A murmur hangs in the air, a whispered mystery that beckons with a silent paw.

Strolling confidently down Pinscher Plaza, my keen eyes scan the shadow-laced boutiques, the daring diners, the vivacious vivariums of canine civilization. Ahead, the luminous sign of The Canine Cafe flickers invitingly, but my mission trumped the tug of the tummy. Pawsburgh was on edge; something in the wind spelled peril, and I was to unwind this riddle without delay.

I bypassed Snout Snacks with only a brief, wistful glance. The scent of Spaniel Spaghetti was enticing to other tails, but not to mine. Tonight was a hunt, and I was the predator. My destination was Vizsla Valley, an area known for its quietude, now the epicenter of whispered woes. Normally, I’d enjoy a jaunt to the Paw-tisserie, but the turkey treats reminisced by a haunted memory would have to wait.

As I made my way, the familiarly rough bark of Oakley, the stalwart German Shepherd of Setter Shore, broke the night’s embrace. “Apollo, we need you. It’s the Silent Howl—he’s back!” he gasped. The Silent Howl, a notorious cat burglar infamous for lifting the most exquisite bones without as much as a whisker out of place, had apparently returned to vex our tranquil town.

I had once trailed him to the brink of capture, but he escaped like smoke under a door. No more. This time, as once were the breezes in the woods, the scent would be mine to follow—a challenge, and, dare I say, sport of a sort.

With the aid of the moon’s slender crescent, I arrived at Best in Show Photography. Ajar, the door whispered secrets. Velvet darkness enfolded me as I stepped inside, my footsteps a hushed symphony. The thief had left his mark, a deft pawprint amid a fallen frame. My mind whirred as I sniffed the air, nostrils flaring. The scent was familiar, a shade citrus—clever, using what I notoriously spurned to cloud my senses.

Drawing upon the subtle notes beneath, the dregs of turkey treats that Oakley had mistakenly handled, I darted out, my spirit ablaze. The chase led me through snaking alleyways and past The Barking Boutique, its mannequins sporting the latest in canine couture, unbothered by the unfolding drama.

My quarry’s scent grew stronger, mingled now with the wet mineral tang of Setter Shore. There, beneath the quivering reeds, the faintest glint of mischief betrayed him. A standoff, illuminated by the spill of celestial light, and we were statuary, save for the swaying foliage.

The wrestle came as a tempest, a fury that the peaceful woods of yore had never known. We rolled and thrashed, a symphony of growls and adrenaline. The Silent Howl was a worthy opponent, but tonight Pawsburgh would sleep soundly under my watch.

As dawn kissed the horizon with hues of marmalade, a telltale jingle heralded Mrs. Beasley’s awakening. I returned to my serene abode, my adventurous heart cloaked once more beneath the guise of a loyal pet. The rubber duck would sing no squeak of my nocturnal escapade, nor would the soft bed that awaited my tired frame.

I am Apollo, guardian of the night, silent paw on the pulse of Pawsburgh—always ready to whip a little tail when duty calls.

The End.