Hey 👋🐾,

So…today wasn’t your regular tail-waggin’ Tuesday in Pawsburgh. The Day of the Stray turned things topsy-turvy, and guess what? Your pint-sized pupper, Ruby, had to step up as the local hero! Spoiler: all’s well, tails are high, and I’m curled up, ready to spill the whole doggone story later. More adventures await!

🐕 Ruby Rover 🐾

Listen to the story here

I remember thinking it was a day like any other in Pawsburgh; I was wrong. When the air shimmers just so, on a day somewhat greyer than usual, you might slip unnoticed through the somewhat arcane dimensions of nap time and find yourself in Pawsburgh. Now, don’t let the name fool you. In Pawsburgh, every dog has its day… and every night, well, that’s another tail entirely.

It started with my morning stretch—my little paws pressed against the cool floor and my back in a delightfully arched bow. Then it was off through the Weimaraner Woods, usually a delight, but today… the trees seemed to mutter and whisper secrets meant only for the wind. I dismissed it —probably Max philosophizing about the virtues of a well-chewed bone.

A jaunt through the Doberman Dunes should have been next, but the sand looked less inviting and more… shifting, as if it bore the weight of invisible paws. ‘Huh,’ I thought, ‘Perhaps the tides of adventure will wash me instead towards the Barking Brunch.’ I yearned for a crumb of their Fortune Flakes, contended to soothe my ruffled spirits.

En route, I trotted over Briard Bridge, the wooden planks creaking ominously beneath me. Beneath, the Chihuahua-chilling sight of shadows swirled in the waters… or was that just old Whiskers’ laugh floating up from below?

Sidetracked by these thoughts, I didn’t notice Setter’s Steakhouse was closed—on a Tuesday no less! The windows dark, a sign hung crookedly: “Gone to chase an endless tail, be back yesterday.”

Now thoroughly unnerved, I sought familiarity at Pet Partners Pet Supplies. Inside, the toys and treats were topsy-turvy, the usual order gone higgledy-piggledy. “A lick of paint would do no good here,” I muttered.

An ominous growl echoed through the shop. Not the stomach-rumbling kind after a missed meal, but something sinister. Upon instinct, I scurried, my tiny paws barely audible over my racing heart, towards The Pawsome Pet Pharmacy. I could taste the bitter twinge of citrus chasing me, the very scent I abhor.

There, a potion perhaps? A confer with the apothecary about this queer turn of Pawsburgh’s charm? But alas, the pharmacy was but a faded facade, the once vibrant sign now whispered warnings: “Beware the bark that bites not.”

What hair-raising hocus had taken hold? Was it born of a dog’s dark dream, or had that sly cat Whiskers finally cursed us with a feline fiendishness?

I needed sage wisdom, a guiding paw. Max! Of course! Max would know. I found him outside The Doggie Daycare, his snout buried in a book titled ‘Ghost Stories for the Canine Soul.’

“Ruby,” he breathed, not looking up. “You’ve noticed then? The day is… askew.”

“Askew? The whole town’s a tail-spin into the terribly terrifying,” I exclaimed.

Max fixed me with a rheumy eye. “It’s the Day of the Stray, my dear. A day when the veils between worlds thin, and entities with snarling snouts and mischievous meows slip through.”

“How do we fix it?”

Max closed his book with a thud. “The Day finds its close with the bravest deed by the smallest foot.” My foot.

Me, Ruby! Right. “Hold my Fortune Flake. I’ve got a world to weave back together.”

And so, with the pluck of a pup half my size, I bounced back through Pawsburgh. I wagged away whispers, chased off chills, growled at growls. Until the peculiar peeled away, and the fantastical fled. Pawsburgh found itself, and I… I found that even the tiniest of terriers can turn the tide.

As the night unwound into daylight yawn, each pup returned to whence they came. And me? I snuggled into my human’s lap with a tale of terror turned triumph.

Trust me, dear reader, this is but one page from my dog-eared diary. But take it from this Chihuahua-terrier sprite, nights in Pawsburgh are nothing to bark at… except when they are.

The End.