Hey Mom,

Guess who turned Pawsburgh topsy-turvy? T-Bone here! Dodged floor squeaks, rendezvoused with the crew, then got schooled in ‘life’s marrow’ by a talking Ghost Hound! Seriously! Who knew I’d find wisdom AND kibble in one night? Off to seize the day – or at least a few treats. Epic tails only!

Stay pawsome,
Tadow Butt 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

Oh boy, oh boy! You wouldn’t believe the tail – I mean, *tale* – that I, Shadow, the sleek and intrepid Chihuahua, must bark out. My stunt in Pawsburgh? Wilder than that time I attempted a leap off the couch and flew. Yes, flew! Alas, gravity is a stern law, but I digress.

Picture this, just after the tick of midnight in your so-called “human time,” when the moon had slathered the world with its silvery goo, I snuck past the squeaky floorboard—years of espionage at its finest—and into Pawsburgh’s shimmering streets.

First stop, Papillon Promenade. I should’ve sensed it. Everything was too sparkly, like a disco ball exploded. But all I could dwell on was meeting Coco and Mia at Whippet Wraps for our midnight snack run. I’ve tried to deal with this reality. My friends? They’re a bit… how should I put this? Airheaded? But I adore them to pieces. Always a good time.

“Moca will flip. She’s been trying this whole ‘puppy paleo’ nonsense,” said Coco, eyes rolling. Oh, Moca and her many food phases. It’d be a whole lot easier if she just loved dumpster diving like yours truly. Primal satisfaction.

As I marched on to Bulldog’s BBQ to appreciate the scents of brisket, a shadow flitted past. And obviously, I can spot good wordplay, so I marveled at the irony – a shadow eclipsing Shadow. Ha! I have a gift.

Then it happened. A chorus of howls, more melodious than Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata – and that’s saying something because, you know, Beethoven. Our very own maestro. He isn’t just any old Beagle; he obviously was Beethoven in a former life, or so he claims.

“Shadow! You see that?” Rebel barked from across the way, fur bristled with provocative audacity. Rebel refuses to believe in leashes – or conforming. I admire him for it.

I squinted into the darkness. Oh, the creature in Malamute Mountain, they whispered of it, a legend growing fuzzier than Old Man Jenkins’ back.

“I see it,” I said, though I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t clutching my tail just a wee bit.

The shape loomed larger, a canine specter tucked in a murkiness that seemed to suck the joy out of dog bones. I froze, all seven pounds of terror. Even the stars seemed to squeak in their sockets.

The Dapper Dog Salon? Ha, no primping and preening could prepare any pup for this encounter. I knew in my Kibbles-filled heart that we were about to bark face-to-face with the Ghost Hound of Pawsburgh.

Out of the shroud of mystery, the ghost materialized. A dog, grander than any Great Dane, yet completely transparent. Its hollow eyes met mine.

“Shadow,” it boomed. I may have whimpered. Just a smidgen.

“Embrace the journey. Seize the marrow of life.” Then, with as much drama as a telenovela, it vanished into the mist.

I stood, momentarily dazed, wondering if perhaps I had scarfed down one too many bacon bits. My crew, wide-eyed, wagged over to me, murmuring.

“Wasn’t that just—” Coco began, but I just grinned.

“Yup, the vitality of Pawsburgh, uncovered beneath a sliver of the ethereal.”

Farewell routine and rote existence, Shadow’s got some marrow-seizing to do. I trotted back home before dawn, sliding into the bed beside my human, leaving them none the wiser.

Huh? Oh, sure, the story’s got holes. But hey, let’s chalk it up to the supernatural, shall we? Besides, who needs logic when you’ve got ghost dogs?

The End.