Hey Mr. J,

You won’t believe the night I’ve had – turned ghostbuster with Sir. Barkington and Cornelius, spooked a phantom pup at Mastiff Meadows, and even made it play fetch! Zephyr’s at peace now, thanks to our little crew. Can’t wait to chew over the details with you. Breakfast soon?

Catch you on the bark side,
Duo

Listen to the story here

As the first streaks of dawn skipped across the cobblestone streets of Pawsburg, I, Duo, a tale-weaving Brindle Dutch Shepherd, found myself trotting through the mystical Shiba Inlet with a sense of anticipation. The human world believed we slept soundly in our beds, but here I was on a secret sojourn, my friends from the nooks and dens of Pawsburg by my side.

It all started when I overheard Mr. Jenkins mumble about a spectral hound haunting the gardens of Mastiff Meadows. Naturally, like any self-respecting dog with an unbound zeal for life and a dash of nosiness, I had to investigate. Outfitted with my weathered frisbee and the courage of a thousand howls, I led the charge alongside the sprightly terrier, Sir. Barkington, and Cornelius, the wise old cat with eyes that saw through time.

Our adventure began ominously enough as we passed Poodle’s Pasta. Its windows shimmered with an unusual frost, despite the warmth of the early morning sun. “Um, is it just me, or does that look like the freezer section at PetCo?” Sir. Barkington quipped, his tail wagging with nervous humor.

We journeyed on until the outlines of Mastiff Meadows materialized before us. The meadow was alive with whispers, each blade of grass humming with unseen energy. A chill ran down my spine that not even the bitterest of citrus could rival. “One spectral hound, coming up,” I said, trying for my best Mindy Kaling understated comedic effect. Cornelius merely rolled his eyes, a movement that conveyed both his feline disdain and his secret thrill for the adventure.

As the sunrise painted the sky a glorious symphony of orange and rose, a soft glow emerged at the heart of the meadow—a wraithlike dog, its visage blurry and altogether impossible. Gasping (but in a totally dignified way, I assure you), we approached the apparition. Its amber eyes, much like mine, hinted at ancient stories, but its body was like the wind – there, yet untouchable.

“Hey there, Casper. Lost your way or just here to freak us out?” I asked, deciding that if this ghost was going to haunt us, it’d better have a good reason. My tail gave an involuntary flick, and the ghastly beast suddenly surged forward, passing through me like a breeze through the leaves. My fur stood on end.

“Whoa, that’s new.” Shaking off the ghostly chill, I caught sight of a faded dog tag, swinging from the ghost’s neck, etched with the word “Zephyr”.

The spectral hound turned towards the East, and with one swift motion, the frisbee leaped from my mouth, sailing through Zephyr and into the horizon. And just like that, in the afterglow of my signature move, Zephyr bolted after the frisbee.

A great bark of laughter escaped me, “Chase that, Zephyr! It’s what we do best!”

The ghost stopped mid-chase, turned to face us, and with a grateful whine that sang of freedom, it faded into the early morning light. Silence took its place – a respectful, awe-filled silence – until Sir. Barkington said, “Anyone up for breakfast at Pup’s Parfait?”

And as we made our way back, translating ephemeral fright to hunger might, I couldn’t help but smile. Not even the fiercest of thunderstorms could dampen the spirit of Pawsburg’s inhabitants. We had encountered the supernatural and responded with the most natural gift we carried: our indomitable hearts and an unquenchable love for adventure and roast chicken, notably in that order.

Back in my sun-dappled nook, I shared my spectral tale with Mr. Jenkins. He listened, his twinkling gaze on me, as the tale of Duo and the ghostly Zephyr wove its way into the fabric of Pawsburg legend.

The End.