Hey Jeb, it’s NukNuk! 🐾 Just had to tell you—I played detective today, solved a mystery, and turned a grumpy mongrel into a parade hero! 🎉 My rope toy’s now a town icon! Can’t wait to swap tales over some Beagle Bagels. Pawsburg’s got more heart than ever. 🦴🐕 #TailWaggingThanksgiving

Listen to the story here

I remember the morning the sun winked over Pawsburg like it had secrets to spill. I woke, as usual, with the faithful relic of my rope toy underpaw, the taste of last night’s chicken dream still on my tongue. But there was a hum on the wind, a whisper of impending excitement rustling through the cornstalks outside my barn abode. Today wasn’t just any day; it was the day before the annual Thanksgiving Day Parade.

As the guardian of the outskirts of Pawsburg, I’m prone to a bit of wanderlust, so I set off toward the heart of town, where Garnet Greyhound Grove was ablaze with autumnal colors and festive preparations. It seemed every tail in town wagged in unison—until I stumbled upon a scene of disarray.

Someone had torn through the grove, shredding banners and toppling cornucopia decorations. The air throbbed with distress barks and howls. “This calamity won’t unravel my sleuthing enthusiasm,” I professed to no one in particular, summoning the spirits of the heartiest hounds before me.

As I stood amidst the chaos, Bernard the wise old barn owl perched on my shoulder, his feathers ruffled by more than just the breeze. “NukNuk,” he hooted, pointing his beak towards Newfoundland Nook, “the Bandit Brothers saw a shadow scurry into the thicket.”

I gathered my cadre of canines—a Shiba with wit as sharp as her name suggests and a Newfie whose brawn was the talk of Puppy Plate—and we chased after the clues, deeper into the mystery and Shiba Inlet’s fog.

Our pursuit hastened past Canine Couture Clothing, where the finest fashions flapped helplessly off broken racks, the work of our villain’s claws. Rushing onwards, with throbbing paws and jowls battling to keep our plotting quiet, we finally cornered the scoundrel at Pawsitively Purrfect Pet Store.

It was Shanks, an estranged mongrel whose heart had soured as the forgotten chew toy in some corner of a doghouse. The air felt heavy, a silence broken only by Shanks’ growling, “Thanksgiving is but a charade for those who are remembered.”

How could I fault him, knowing that thunder—an equally forsaken sound—still sends me diving ‘neath Jeb’s sanctuary of a porch? So, I offered a paw, an olive branch of sorts.

“Join us, Shanks. There’s a place at the parade for you,” I insisted, feeling the unity of Pawsburg rise within my chest like a chorus. “Channel your craft for good.”

It took the promise of Beagle Bagels to soften Shanks’ heart, but the spell was cast. With the villain now our ally, we toiled together, mending, crafting, and recovering what was lost. We even found unique use for my dear rope toy—it would lead the parade, a symbol of survival and renewal.

The Thanksgiving Day Parade bloomed anew—a cavalcade of dogs and decorated floats, each marked by colors vibrant as the morning it began and tales as savory as my favored treats.

As we marched, Shanks at our flank, wearing a garland we made together, I couldn’t help but marvel at the streets I guard transformed into arenas of unity and acceptance.

The parade passed under the buttery glow of sunset, and there, among the shared plates at Canine Kabobs, we shared more than just food—we shared stories. Each wag, each slobbery kiss on the snouts of our kin, echoed the chorus of the Thanksgiving spirit: inclusion, compassion, and a treasure chest of gratitude.

The day faded, and the stars blinked above Pawsburg, brushing the sky with light. My thoughts ambled off as I laid my head on my rope toy, now part of parade history, and I reflected on the tale I’d share with Old Jeb come morning light. In a town governed by the wag of tails, where every bark harbors a yarn, I, NukNuk, had a Thanksgiving story that wouldn’t soon be forgotten.

The End.