Hey pal, Maggie the Marvelous here! Just foiled a heist at the local dog boutique and outswam my fears across that dreadful estuary to nab sneaky Burt. Turns out heroism’s just a fancy word for not letting your pals down. Tail wags from Pawsburgh, where courage is the true kibble of legends. 🐾✨ Catch ya at the dog park! – Marvelous M

Listen to the story here

In the heartwarming hamlet o’ Pawsburgh, where every dog has his day, and then some, lived I – a modestly brindled pug named Maggie. I’m bland in taste for the high seas or the grooming parlors, but sharp as a terrier’s tooth when it’s a romp or a game o’ fetch.

Now, I ain’t no horn-tootin’ type, but folks ’round these parts took to callin’ me “Maggie the Marvelous,” account of some peculiar happenings involving me and the snug burrows of Pawsburgh – a tale fit for a cozy night’s narration.

‘Twas a peaceful morn on Schnauzer Street, I was prancin’ past the Canine Cafe, pink cloud toy in mouth, makin’ my way to Collie’s Cuisine (a squabble with me belly ‘bout popcorn bein’ nutritious enow for breakfast). But on crossing Briard Bridge, a cry echoed from Eskimo Estuary that turned me paws to ice – it takes more’n a bribe of buttery popcorn to get me near water, mind you.

“Danger at Canine Couture Clothing!” It was the unmistakable yelp of distress. And who to heed it but me! I may not be keen on wetness but injustice? That sits in me gullet as ill as badger meat.

I skedaddled over there swifter than hounds on a hunt – my ears laid back, as they do when I’m headlong into some feverish adventure. The scene was a regular dog’s dinner: the Howling Husky’s Hardware hammer had gone missin’, and the culprit was fleein’ the shop with a caper like they owned the Tail Wagger’s Tailor.

The ruffian was Burt, the Bully bulldog – hearts as bonnie as beets gone sour. The chase was on, yessiree!

Over the cobblestones of Pawsburgh we dashed, me, Maggie, in hot pursuit, my toy dropped in the dust of justice. Through the hubbub of Pawsburgh Market, we bobbed and weaved like sparrows in a windstorm, until we reached the dreaded estuary.

There, Burt halted, cornered. And I, well, slowly approaches, the weight of my choices like a sack o’ wet blankets. T’was water and me – not friends, no sir. Yet, the eyes of Pawsburgh was upon me.

I eyed me nemesis, him a tough bully. “Burt,” says I, my voice firmer than a no-nonsense nanny’s, “Pawsburgh ain’t big enough for the likes of such squalid acts.”

He growled, but there was a quiver in his jowls, “What’re ye gonna do ’bout it, Maggie? Gonna swim across and get wet?”

The dogs of Pawsburgh, they relied on Maggie the Marvelous, and I ain’t about to let ’em down. So I took me a deep breath – and I commandeered a floatin’ board, paddlin’ across with paws nimbler than a seamstress knitting in a race.

Burt, seeing me bravery, surrendered the hammer right quick. “Please, Maggie, you have the true heart of a hero.” “A hero,” says I, “is just a dog who’s made a choice.”

Upon returnin’, the townsfolk hailed me – but I’ll say, the only superpower Maggie ever wielded was the power of loyalty and courage.

So, there y’have it, friend – the tale of how Maggie the Marvelous braved her greatest fear, for the loving tails waggin’ in this magical town. And if perchance you find yourself in Pawsburgh, keep an ear out, for the tales here, why, they’re as hearting as the green hills where every dog plays in eternal twilight.

The End.