Hey buddy! 🐾 Clifford here – Mastermind of Mischief Management in Pawsburgh. 🏙️ Just thwarted a literary heist with our pack, faced my lemon-scented nemesis, and proved that even the tiniest legs can chase down justice. 🕵️‍♂️ Capes, canine capers, and chicken rewards – just a normal day for me, the cutest crusader of them all! 🦸‍♂️ Stay pawsome! 🐕✨ – Cliff

Listen to the story here

Right, let’s get into it. I’m Clifford, Pembroke Welsh Corgi, purveyor of paws, protector of Pawsburgh – not your average biscuit-begging furball.

It was a Tuesday when I first sniffed out the incident at Affenpinscher Avenue. Tuesdays, for the record, are rarely eventful; their only distinguishing feature is being the day between the Monday blues and the Wednesday ‘is-it-the-weekend-yet?’. However, little did I know, as I stretched my stubby legs alongside the Sleepy Creek, that extraordinary happenings were afoot.

I trotted into Pawsburgh, the town hidden from the eyes of non-canines. Arriving at the town square, I caught a scent on the wind – not the heavenly whiff of Whippet Wraps or the tangy fragrance wafting from Chihuahua’s Chimichangas but the unmistakable smell of trouble.

Bella, with her snout deep in the latest gossip, bounded over with news of a heist at The Wagging Tail Bookstore. “Clifford!” she barked, “Someone’s stolen the latest edition of ‘The Snout in the Dark’!” A collective gasp ruffled the fur of everyone present; that book was the tail-wagging thriller of the year.

“By my furry saddle,” I vowed, “we shall retrieve it!”

Daisy and Max joined our intrepid pack as we followed the scent to Eskimo Estuary. There we found tracks mingled with a mysterious, lemony scent – citrus, my arch nemesis! I shivered, memories of tart treachery flooding in. With a twitch of my regal nose, we pursued.

“So, what’s the plan?” Max mused, the gears always turning behind his intellect-filled eyes.

“I can’t do the sniffing, Maxie boy. You know how I feel about lemons,” I said. “But together, we’ll outwit the blighter!”

Daisy, ever the heart of the group, comforted, “We’ve got this, Clifford! We are the heroes Pawsburgh needs!”

The trail led us to Spitz Spire, where atop its grand heights, we spotted a shady figure clutching the snatched scripture. “That’s right,” I barked. “A literal shady figure. It was quite sunny, you see.”

The villain revealed himself as a sleek, black Whippet, draped dramatically in a cape. “Yes, it’s I, the Hound in the Hood!” he proclaimed. I found that rather on-the-nose and told him so. But he was too busy twirling his mustache – metaphorically, of course. Dogs don’t grow mustaches.

“What’s your game, foul fiend?” I chuffed, puffing out my chest in defiance.

“I want to make Pawsburgh literate, one pilfered page at a time!” he declared, which was a bit confusing, honestly, since we already had The Wagging Tail Bookstore.

“Not on my watch,” I replied, Sir Puff clutched in my jaws – a symbol of valor and worn fabric. We sprang into action.

Bella used her newshound skills to bark the tale across Pawsburgh, summoning the fellowship of paws. Max’s calculating mind directed traffic, while Daisy’s heart and smile rallied our spirits. My role? The mastermind and mascot, of course. Never underestimate the strategic advantage of cuteness.

The Hound in the Hood, seeing he was outnumbered, capitulated, surrendering the book and promising to reform his ways, maybe run for municipal office or something less criminal.

With the day saved, we returned to our respective realms of human dwellings, our secret safe until the next canine conundrum. Me? I got back just in time for the savory bliss of roast chicken under Mrs. Pennington’s table.

So, there you have it—a day in the life of Clifford, scribe of stories, guardian of good, and four-legged friend to all. Remember, in Pawsburgh, every pup has the heart of a hero, and every day? Well, it could very well be your next grand adventure.

The End.