Hey there, it’s Sal, your neighborhood sleuthhound! 🐾 Just gave Sherlock a run for his money with Max at Rottweiler Ridge – stumbled into another *barking* dimension, sniffed out the mystery of vanishing dogs & bounced back with tails wagging. Pawsburg still smells like home, but adventure’s left a curious scent on our collars. Let’s just say our frisbees orbit a bit wider now! 🎾🌀

Woofs & Whisks,
Sally

Listen to the story here

So it goes. It’s me, Sally, the Basset Hound with the ears of an elephant and the soulful eyes of a poet. In the town of Pawsburg, where the fire hydrants never run dry and the mailmen disperse treats instead of bills, I reckon I’ve got myself a tale that’ll curl your tail.

It was a day like any other in Amber Akita Alley. I was trotting down to The Canine Cafe, mind set on a savory chicken treat. The sun was an arrogant polka dot in the sky, and my ears flopped with each step, unaware of the peculiarities the day had in store.

Then it happened. An alley cat – said to be as mysterious as Whiskers on a good day – whispered of strange things at Rottweiler Ridge. “Dogs vanishing,” it said, “into thin air, but the tennis balls… they come back chewed.”

“Thanks for the tip, spook,” I woofed, curious but skeptical. The thought of a tennis ball disappearing intrigued me more than it should have.

I moseyed on, the words playing a bluesy tune in my mind, my heart heavy as my paws carried me to Beagle Bagels. Max, with his athlete’s stance, caught up with me—frisbee hanging from his jaws and ears perked to trouble.

“Sally, have you heard about the Ridge?” he barked, letting the disc drop.

“The cat beat you to the news,” I replied, “But since when do we listen to alley gossip?”

“Just the squirrels, really,” he confessed, half-smiling, ready for a game of chase.

We decided to tromp up to Bloodhound Bluffs instead, treat our noses to the world’s secrets. That’s when we felt it – the ground, it hummed beneath us, a vibration alien to our paws.

Looking at each other, Max’s eyes wide as saucers, mine as deep as the well my ears could reach, we knew – Pawsburg was living up to its name, tickling us with paws from another world, it seemed.

The curiosity nuzzled our spirits like a persistent pup. We had to sniff this out.

It was just past Paw Pad Thai, heading toward the Bluffs, that we came across a shimmer. Not like any shimmer of heat rising off a summer road, but a shimmer in the atmosphere, like a ripple in a pond.

In that half-beat of a heart, Max leaped through the shimmer. My belly chilled as I watched my friend vanish with only the soft clatter of his collar tag left behind.

Two choices then: chase a frisbee back into the normal or leap after my vanishing buddy into the not-so-normal. The choice made itself. I dove into the ripple.

You wouldn’t believe the things I saw. Colors of a spectrum only bugs would understand, smells rich as Charlie’s beef stew, but different, unearthly. Yet there was Max, his fur on static, frisbee secured, still the show-off, waiting for me.

“Let’s bolt, Sally!” he yelped, just as the world settled into something we recognized. Except for one thing – we weren’t in Pawsburg anymore.

Reality was a blanket too short. We were in a place made of whispers, shadows, and the ghostly chew marks on forgotten tennis balls.

There was no time to ponder, to philosophize like old Charlie over a knitted afghan. Our tails wagged with the urgency of escape.

When we plunged back through the shimmery curtain, breathless and wide-eyed, Pawsburg greeted us with familiar smells – Beagle Bagels, Chihuahua’s Chimichangas, and the unwavering stench of loyalty.

“So it goes,” I said to Max, ear-kissed by the afternoon wind. We’d never speak of it, but we’d always remember every time a tennis ball bounced strangely, every time a frisbee flew a little too high.

Just another day, you could say, with the strange and wondrous in the canine heart of Pawsburg.

The End.