Hey Ellie,

Just finished penning my epic. I, Winston the Wonder-Mutt, broke out of the pound, led a crew to rescue Marley, and restored order in Pawsburgh—all with a wag of the tail and a taste for adventure (and apple pie). A tail-wagging legend? Quite possibly.

Catch you on the trail,

Winston 🐾🎾

Listen to the story here

Oh, the autumn breeze that sways the golden stalks out here in Pawsburgh—it sings to my soul, if one could say such a thing about us four-legged types. The tale I’m about to spill is one for the books, a narrative stitched with adventure and dashed with the inescapable charm only found in a place where every tail wags with its own story.

I’m Winston, by the way. Red Golden Retriever, enthusiast of leaf chasing, and known by all my pals as the canine incarnation of frolicsome spirit. I’d prefer if I wasn’t known for something else—like the “Great Collar Mix-Up.” Yeah, you heard right—a mix-up that had my paws walking the cold and lonely floor of a place no dog dreams of—the local shelter.

It started on an ordinary day in Pawsburgh. There I was, eyeing the tennis ball with the focus of a maestro pondering a symphony, when Luna, with her strides as elegant as a ballet, trotted up beside me on Weimaraner Woods’ path.

“Winston, have you heard?” she barked, her sleek coat gleaming under the sun’s glow.

“Heard what, Luna? Unless it’s the sound of thunder—or Ellie’s car pulling up—I probably haven’t,” I quipped with a wag, waiting for the news.

“Marley’’s collar was found by his empty bowl this morning. They think someone snatched him!”

I felt my heart throbbing as if it was trying to jump out and embark on a rescue mission itself. But before I had a chance to respond, a hand with a badge approached and my autumn-dyed world spun into greys.

Fast forward through a blur of misunderstandings and there I was, cooped up behind the bars of the shelter and the notorious Pawsburgh Poundkeeper peeking at me with suspicion in his eyes. Sure, the collar found at the scene was red, but honestly, in Pawsburgh, who didn’t own a red collar?

My days of savoring Ellie’s laughter, the rolling green, and those irresistible apples seemed like a distant dream. But I wasn’t about to roll over for this one; I had to make a break for it, for Marley, for justice, for apples!

Each night, as the moon climbed its ladder to the stars, I wove together a plan that could rival Houdini’s. Marley’s disappearance itched at my conscience, a detective novel spinning its pages inside my head – and I was the sleuth about to crack the case wide open.

The plan was simple: use charm and a tennis ball. You see, the shelter had an array of furry inmates, all with skills as unique as their barks. So I rallied them with whispers and wags, knowing full well the narrative arc required teamwork.

“Listen up, crew,” I orated with the style of a charismatic rebel. “Tomorrow, at the strike of noon, we roll out. Rufus, you dig. Bella, you distract. And bingo—freedom!”

The day unraveled like clockwork, an orchestra playing a symphony of escape. The ball bounced, the guards laughed, and Rufus’s paws danced beneath the fence like a pianist in a frenzy. And just like that, the gate, accented with the cries of freedom, swung open.

We didn’t just run; we flew out of there as if we had wings, Luna effortlessly in the lead, Marley bounding around the next turn, collar and all, un-snatched, an embarrassing case of misplacement rather than abduction.

Back beneath the familiar canopies of Vizsla Valley, we exchanged licks and promises of undying loyalty. Now, I sit, dictating my tale to a human at Canine’s Cuisine, enjoying apple pie, minus the lemon, of course.

And often, when passing The Pawfect Training Center, they say you can catch a glimpse of me—a red flash, a sparkle of honey-hued eyes—Winston, the leaf-chasing legend, who broke out for the sake of friendship.

What a story, eh? Take it from me, Winston, Pawsburgh’s own four-legged fugitive­—sometimes a bark, a ball, and a bit of bravery are all it takes to turn tails and tides.

The End.