Hey Mom,

Crazy night! Turned detective in Pawsburgh with Rufus and Bella to unravel a citrusy mystery spoofing our enchanting doggy dimension! Outsmarted a ghostly citrus sorcerer, saved our magical town, and made it back in time for dinner. Hero stuff, you know? Just your average evening for “Detective Sniffer” 😜. Give Daisy a belly rub for me!

Licks and wags,
Callie 🐾

Listen to the story here

In the gloaming of the indigo twilight, when the sleepy sun doffed its hat and bid adieu behind the veil of night, the mystical warp in the fabric of time and space unzipped between the world of humans and the enchanted Pawsburgh. It was in this hour of whispers, when humans slumbered aloft in their beds, that we, the dogs of earthly dominion, exchanged the mundane for the magical, if but for a stolen moment.

There I was, Callie, with paws lightly prancing over the cobblestone streets of Samoyed Square, a brisk wind playing amidst the canopy of stars above—something was amiss. The jaunt to Pawsburgh usually filled me with a heightened rapture, every scent an unopened gift, every shadow a potential frolic. Still, tonight, there lurked a disquiet amongst the picturesque, a sense malign in nascence.

As I trotted past The Woofy Bakery, the usual redolence of freshly-baked liver treats and bone-shaped biscuits was shrouded by an eerie stillness. No canine creation lined the window, for the window itself yawned dark. A howl shrilled in the distance, its owner unseen and the cry unnervingly human.

My heart bristled as I resolved to meet Rufus at The Dapper Dog Salon, whose sagacity, I hoped, would scatter the cloak of my unease. Yet, upon arrival, the lights flickered erratically, as if resisting surrender to some unseen adversary.

Rufus, perched on the overstuffed divan of the salon, eyed the flickers with a caution I’d never seen lace his ancient demeanor. “There’s a rogue zephyr on the loose, whispering woes and enchanting echos of a time best left forgotten,” he charted, his voice a boulder against the phantasmal tide.

“And whatever shall we do, Rufus? Should we not entreat our compatriots to arms, with tooth and nail be the arbiters of our fate?” I enquired, my spirit saucier than ever, despite the tremble that dared to infringe upon my wherewithal.

“Eyes wide, young Callie,” he derided gently, the patina of age gleaming with a glint of its long-lost youth. “Our foe won’t be cowed by brawn; it is a riddle that must be solved and not a bone that must be gnawed.”

While digesting Rufus’s cryptic guidance, Bella bounded in, her size diminutive, her will titanic. “The river ‘pon Eskimo Estuary runs thick with fear; a dissonance turns the water’s song sour!” With firebrand eyes, she reported the state of Pawsburgh’s sacred streams.

Our gallant trio pondered beneath the spectral lights, muttering cantrips of protection woven from doggerel and whim. “To uncover the truth, we must brave the heart of Pawsburgh,” I pronounced, boldness donning my words like an ill-fitting collar.

The journey was fraught with shadows that leapt like lost spirits, and the squelch of paw against the pidgin moist of the cobblestone seemed an ominous drum, heralding our venture towards the unknown.

The scent first hit my snout with a potency that recoiled my senses—an aroma unholy and forbidden, the bête noire of my kind—the citrus sorcerer of myth!

Briard Bridge materialized before us, shrouded in a miasma of orange and lemon, the culprit clear as the noonday sun. An ethereal figure presided over the estuary, its core radiating the offensive bouquet, its reach extending the dread across Pawsburgh.

Armored in bravado, and my trusty squeaky ball by my side, I stood before the spectre. “We spirits of earth and fur reject thee!” I intoned, confident the object of our shared endeavors would heat the ghostly citadel with its incarnadine life.

“Alas,” I thought, rallying the ardor of my childhood to undermine the webwork of mysterious morbidity encasing our hamlet. It was in that frenetic pitch, between the whistle of phantom winds and canine valor, that the squeak of resilience resounded. The reverberation pierced the shroud, which frayed and faded, as reality restored its rightful, ungarnished hues.

Pawsburgh unfurled once again, its charm rekindled, its pastry scents and river songs in tuned harmony once more. Supping later on hearty dollops at Doggie Diner, our tails wagged tales of our nocturnal haunt, a testament to the spirit of canine kinship, valiant in the visage of fear.

There, a narration of Callie’s twilight travail, through Pawsburgh’s phantasmagoric recesses and back again into the comforting cradle of myth and wag.

The End.