Hey Mom,

I became Pawsburgh’s Sherlock Bones today! 😎 I sniffed out a peculiar mystery with floating toys and pirouetting pastries! It was like a ‘pawranormal’ activity. Together with the tail-wagging gang, we’re on a quest to uncover this wacky whodunit. I’ll keep you updated—the adventure has just begun!

Tail wags and nose boops,
Reba 🐾🔍

Listen to the story here

I swear on my favorite chew toy, there are days in Pawsburgh that boast a charm that even the juiciest bone couldn’t match. Today, the sun’s greeting was like a spotlight on a stage set for intrigue, and as Pawsburgh’s very own yellow Labrador, Reba – that’s me – I felt the tug of adventure like a leash gently pulling towards the unknown.

You know Amber Akita Alley? The one painted with scents that make your tail wag uncontrollably? I was there, trotting with a rhythm that would have made my human’s metronome jealous. But today, the alley whisked itself into something… peculiar. Imagine, a grown dog like me, startled by whispers coming from cracked paving stones – like ghost stories tailors might tell their frightened puppies.

I shook my coat, my liquid caramel eyes scanning the peculiar scene. “Ho-ly Kibbles,” I mumbled to myself, my voice steady like my human’s when she talks to the houseplants, “Reba, looks like you’re not in Kansas anymore.” Not that I’ve ever been to Kansas, but it’s the drama of the thing, you know?

The whispers got louder, like a crescendo in Fur Elise. Before my paws could decide otherwise, I found myself at The Doggy Depot, but the toys were floating mid-air, spinning like they were auditioning for Swan Lake. My jaw dropped, which, if you know me, takes quite a bit more than an unconventional ballet to achieve.

Now, Kemah the Komondor would say I’m exaggerating. That it’s just an ill-timed gust of wind or a trick of the light, but I doubt the wind would have a taste for clandestine waltzes. Something pranced behind the physics here; something far stranger than the belly rubs I adore.

I sauntered over to Paw-tisserie with thoughts as jumbled as the biscuits in their display. Tina, the terrier behind the counter, who could yap the hind leg off a donkey, had her mouth busy mixing confusion with concern. “Reba, did you see? The eclairs are doing pirouettes!” she barked.

“Happened at The Doggy Depot too,” I replied, “and I bet a year’s worth of treats that’s not all we’re gonna see today.”

By the time I got to Mastiff Meadows, where the grass usually nodded in simple appreciation of the wind, I caught Oscar, Harlie, and a dachshund I didn’t recognize huddled together. The dachshund was frantic, barking about a shadow that darted just outside of his peripheral vision, zigzagging like a squirrel on a caffeine rush. Oscar, a hound so solemn he could write sonnets, was rather taken aback, but Harlie, bless her heart, just wanted to play.

“The world’s gone topsy-turvy, my friends,” I announced, channeling my inner philosopher, “We got floating toys, dancing desserts, and now, phantom shadows. What’s next, we all start meowing?”

Harlie snorted. “Only if they scratch behind the ears, right?”

We made our pact there and then to solve this canine caper. Let’s not bark around the bush; there was no way we’d leave this bone buried. We scouted towards Briard Bridge, our ears perked, our paws resolute. In our hearts, we’d carry the tales back to our humans; stories embellished with tail-wagging suspense and mysterious shadows that demanded to be chased.

Look, I’m not just a Lab with a penchant for treats. I’ve got the nose for a good mystery, too, and here in Pawsburgh, where dogs live lives beyond the daydreams of a nap on the couch, I knew we were striding towards a tail – I mean tale – that would become the stuff of legend.

The End.

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