Hey there,

Just wrapped up another evening soaked in mystery and mayhem in Pawsburgh. I played the part of a sly, inquisitive Corgi caught in a tail of espionage with our town’s Zephyrina, dodging the growls of Old Bruno. All in a day’s work when you’re a secret agent with a nose for conspiracy and a penchant for distraction. Every bark has its story, and mine just keeps wagging on.

Catch you on the flip side of the fire hydrant,
Arlo 🕵️‍♂️🐾

Listen to the story here

In the whispered hubbub of Pawsburgh, where every dog about town has a tale to wag, I, Arlo, stand paw to paw with the most secretive of them all – a canine Bond, if you will, sans the martini and the lack of opposable thumbs. It all began on an unassuming Tuesday or was it Wednesday? Sincerely, who keeps track of days when you’re a dog with a mission?

The sun dipped lazily behind Weimaraner Woods, painting the sky with strokes of blushing mango and bashful lavender. With my favorite rubber ball securely within my jaws, I trotted towards Basenji Bay, my ears tuning in to the pulse of the town, a mosaic of barks and yaps – the Morse code of the canine kind. My nostrils, trained to detect more than the mere symphony of scents, picked up an aroma that was decidedly not chicken-flavored nor reminiscent of the savory treats from Labrador Lunch.

There she was, across the shimmering sands of the Bay, the enigmatic and fabulously mysterious Afghan hound named Zephyrina, her silhouette casting a spell in the twilight. Tales of her exploits trailed her like her luxurious fur – they spoke of encrypted bones and hidden leashes of power. I approached her, feigning nonchalance, ball now forgotten. What’s a game of fetch next to a rendezvous laden with whispers of espionage?

“Zephyrina, isn’t it?” I began, my tone studiedly casual, aiming a nod at her coiled leash, which folklore argued was a gadget concealing encoded microchips. “Lovely evening for a… stroll, isn’t it?”

Her laugh, a cascade of tinkling chimes, floated towards me. “Arlo, darling, you could at least pretend you’re not here for the leash. We both know a nosy Corgi when we see one.”

I sat on my haunches, eyes unwavering from her guarded gaze. “I prefer the term ‘inquisitive’. And let’s be honest, that’s no ordinary leash, is it?”

A hush fell, broken only by the gentle lap of waves against the bay. Zephyrina inhaled as if to speak, but the sound that followed was not her voice. It was a low, guttural growl from the shadows. Old Bruno emerged, his bark now buffered with a menacing edge. The Bulldog was said to have once been a double agent during the Cold Nose War.

The situation was hairier than a Komondor on a humid day. I could see Zephyrina’s fur stand on end; her cover might be blown. Time for a distraction. “Bruno, my old chap,” I barked, “have you tried Paw-lickin’ Pancakes’ new Maple-Bacon stack?”

Confusion furrowed Bruno’s brow, and Zephyrina seized the moment, flicking her impressive tail, signaling a move I’d seen only in the stealthiest of spy flicks. I bounced toward Bruno, lavish in praise for syrup and batter, tales twirling faster than a dervish on a dizzy day, all the while inching him away from the Afghan’s position.

Zephyrina used the diversion to disappear into the mist that rolled in from Onyx Otterhound Oasis, her presence evaporating like the last dewdrops at dawn.

Mission, for now, seemed accomplished. With the covert rendezvous dissolved into the ether, and my brush with espionage complete, I reflected on the evening’s peculiarities as I sauntered home. I passed The Doggy Depot, glowing in the last light, but I knew better than to linger. Pawsburgh may seem like Paradise to a playful pup, but beneath the surface swirled tales and secrets enough to keep even a Corgi like me on my paws.

Back at my beloved hill with the stolen rubber ball now a trophy of tonight’s adventures, I contemplated my next caper. After all, tomorrow is another day in Pawsburgh, and who knows what shadows may drift beneath its innocent facade?

The End.

Share This Story: