Hey Mom,

Imagine your lil’ Skiddler turned detective in Pawsburgh! Sniffed out a riddle, faced a shady stranger, and now I’m chasing clues with a tail-wagging zest! My day’s become a whirl of whispers and tails (I mean tales!). Will bark more about the adventure at dinner.

Tail wags and face licks,
Skittles 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

The first light of dawn hadn’t yet kissed the skyline of Pawsburgh when my paws found their rhythm beneath me. Shadows from Amber Akita Alley crept along the cobblestones, painting a quiet that whispered, “Hush, Skittles, the day’s secrets are yours for the taking.”

You know, every dog has its day? Bollocks. A dog like me? I carve that day out of the dark, marble morning.

A chilly breeze lifted my ears, but it was the scent, oh, that scent which pulled at my whiskers. Not your mundane waft of herbs from Canine Cafe, not today – this was different. A whisper of danger danced under my nose and tingled my spine. The usual hustle of Jade Jack Russell Junction was replaced with an eerie silence, fractured only by the distant creak of the sign from The Furry Friends Art Gallery.

My achilles (and accompanying heel) being my courage, tucked away somewhere between ‘dashingly daring’ and ‘where did that bloomin’ rat scurry off to’, I proceeded with caution. My paws clipped the ground ahead, while my heart seemed content to hammer away in yesterday.

Then… there it was. That hint of clanging metal. The scents of rust and rain mingled, leading me towards Vizsla Valley. My pulse pitched higher than Rudy during our chase-the-squirrel shenanigans.

“Skittles, is it? Heard about you,” a voice seeped from the shadows, seasoning the air with a threat.

I stared into those murky depths, squinting for a sign of the culprit. “You’ve got the upper paw,” I barked back, steeling my voice to hold steady, “but I’m not one to skitter away.”

My friend, Tucker, had spouted some drivel about collective calm and gathered strength. Well, Tucker wasn’t dodging dark-hued strangers in Vizsla Valley, wasn’t he?

“Ah, the famed Skittles,” the voice mused, with a chuckle like crackling fire – warmth with a bite. “Want a true taste of Pawsburgh? Follow the riddle.”

A leaf, crisp and curling like yesterday’s news, flittered down by my feet with three lines scribbled onto it.

*Where Terriers make tacos, but dogs dine never more,*
*Here lies the key behind a locked, invisible door.*

Cheese and whiskers! It was unfolding like a psychological origami. Was this stroll becoming a skirmish in my very own psychological thriller? Or was someone yanking my leash with a prank so elaborate it deserved applause?

One could simply amble over to Terrier Tacos to sniff out the truth, but what of this ‘locked, invisible door’? Could that be The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium? I often pondered why on earth would anyone in Pawsburgh venture into a feline-named shop unless it was a cunning front for something magnificently dog-centric?

Despite my typical resolve to avoid conundrums, the lure of mystery beckoned like the chime of the treats jar back home. With each step, I recalled my lion, the fearless effigy that had gazed stoically from its post on my bed, urging me towards gallantry. If that overstitched feline could, it’d undoubtedly tell me, “Skits, you daft little dog, what’s life without a smidgen of fear to spice up the kibble?”

Tucker and Rudy would roll their eyes at my misadventure. Still, as the Pawsburgh dawn unfurled like a stage curtain, I realized the game was afoot, and this petite Jack Russell-Chihuahua mix wouldn’t back down. The reality of my day – my ordinary, tail-wagging-ecstasy-filled day – slipped into a cloak of shadows and secrets, riddles and, quite possibly, delectable deceit.

I, Skittles, with all my quirks and an unparalleled taste for cheese, had a newfound zest thrumming in my veins. Pawsburgh was going to show a side never seen because, beneath the timid guise, the spirit of a heroine stirred…

Game on, mysterious stranger. Game on.

The End.