Hey Mom and Dad 👋,

Just wrapped up another fur-raising adventure in Pawsburgh! 🐾🌒 I led the pack into the night to take back what’s ours. Turns out, Barry the Beagle snatched my prize squeaky toy but I showed him what Leia, avenger of shadows, is made of. Spoiler: he kept the toy, but the respect I earned was worth way more. This pup’s tales of justice are just beginning. 🌟

Catch you at dawn,
Baby Cakes 🐶💕

Listen to the story here

As the clock ticks the soft lullaby of the midnight hour, my realm of Pawsburgh comes alive. Oh, the sheer audacity of it all, the moonlit escapades just beyond the gentle snoring of my humans. Tonight’s venture is not one of frolic, oh no, it’s a mission threaded with the dark silk of retribution. The very fabric of Pawsburgh shivers with anticipation, or perhaps that’s just the nocturnal chill nipping at my sleek black coat as I dart into the shadows.

My floppy ears brush against the gates of Pawsburgh, tantamount to treason by day, but under the cloak of night, promise. The streets echo with four-pawed whispers, beckoning, “Leia, avenger of shadows, guardian of the night, righter of canine wrongs!”

I make my way first to Newfoundland Nook, where the scent of brine and bravado fills the air, mixing tantalizingly with the whiff of truth and justice. A conspiracy, you see, weaved with villainous threads and a squeaky toy wrongfully snatched from my collection.

“Leia!” The cry ripples through the streets from The Doggy Depot, an establishment known for its infinite aisles of tennis balls—a source of my zealous joys. I enter, my gaze steely, my resolve unyielding. “You’ve heard?” barks the collie clerk, aghast.

Heard? I’m the headliner in this hard-boiled tail—I mean, tale. It was Barry, the Beagle, a notorious slinker of Spitz Spire, who purloined my treasured toy. My fury, all twitching nostrils and bared teeth, has been unleashed, and Pawsburgh shall not know peace until justice is restored.

I must consult with my associates, so we rally at Spaniel Spaghetti—a culinary crossroads where sauces fly more freely than gossip. We convene in a dim-lit corner booth; the terrier twins, a poodle called Penelope, and that pug who insists on anonymity despite his unmistakable snore.

“Cataclysm!”, says one twin, her tone as sharp as her teeth.

“Confrontation!”, insists the other, equally sharp.

“Calculations…”, whispers the poodle, ever the strategist.

I ponder their words, letting their meaning meander like a meadow brook. Forward, onto Harrier Harbor, our paws a rhythmic proclamation of purpose. Barry has no inkling of the tempest closing in, his betrayal a knot soon to be unraveled by my righteous jaws.

Retriever’s Restaurant looms into view. Barry, the squeaky toy scoundrel, holds court, guffawing amidst a huddle of equally unsavory characters. It is here, in this fortress of folly, that retribution must be served—a dish distinctly colder than Dog’s Delicacies’ famed Pup-sicles.

I advance, my shadow a prelude to my presence. “Barry,” I intone, my voice the calm before the storm. “I believe you have something of mine.”

The Beagle’s eyes widen, mirroring the moonlight, his misdemeanours mirrored in his gaze. He stammers an excuse, as hollow as a chewed-up bone.

Just as the air tingles with the thrill of confrontation, a triumph of the canine spirit, a mere squeak diffuses the tension. My toy, now crestfallen between Barry’s paws, seems suddenly trivial amidst the throes of Pawsburgh justice.

Forgiveness, it seems, paves the streets of Pawsburgh tonight—not out of surrender, but out of strength. “Keep it,” I say, turning away. “May it squeak louder as a reminder of your betrayal.”

And as I saunter back into the night, the tale of Leia, defender of backyard havens, echoes through Pawsburgh—a legend to be whispered in my wake. The moon is my accomplice, and my furry friends, my companions in every glorious ride under the cover of darkness. My adventures, untold, await the dawning of the next moon to unfurl—a stream of conscience in a world rife with intrigue and the promise of tomorrow’s sweet vengeance.

The End.