Hey buddy! Just saved Pawsburgh from a squirrel heist at Canine’s Cuisine with my furry crew. Turns out, my aversion to citrus paid off – who knew my kryptonite would be their downfall too? We kept the town’s treats (and my squeaky chicken) safe without ruffling any fur. Paw bumps all around for a job well done – high paws and good chow under the Pawsburgh sun! Catch ya on the flip side.

Tail wags,
Hank “The Pawsburgh Protector”

Listen to the story here

Now, if tales of dogged valor and high-spirited escapades tickle your fancy, why, you’ve come to the right place. Let me spin you a yarn about a day in Pawsburgh, where us dogs get to whet our whiskers on adventures untold to man.

A’course, I’m Hank – the white French Bulldog, proprietor of a perfectly placed black patch over my left eye. It adds to my charm and sagacity, much like a seasoned pirate’s, though I’m fond of no roguery, mind you, except that which invites a good-natured gambol.

It was a roaring day over at Blue Basenji Bay, and I, Hank, along with my band of noble compatriots, was on our casual promenade. Bella the Golden Retriever, Max the Beagle, and, bless her heart, Tilly the cat – she fancies herself the brains of the operation, akin to a furry Socrates in her musings.

Now, Pawsburgh, a delightful place, is no stranger to the occasional kerfuffle, and this day was to be no ordinary frolic. For a curious murmuring had breezed through Vizsla Valley, whispering of a varmint threatening to spoil our savory spreads at Corgi’s Crepes and Setter’s Steakhouse. Such nefarious designs could not stand, not in Pawsburgh!

Per my usual gusto, I led our little fellowship with tail high, curled like the promise of an adventure in the making, venturing toward the ballyhoos that took to disturbing our daily peace. “Egad,” I barked, “onward to Canine’s Cuisine, scout for yonder mischief!”

‘Twas at Canine’s Cuisine that the rumpus revealed itself – a gang of rogue squirrels, not the chatty kind mind you, but a menacing sort, intent on pilfering our town’s beloved culinary creations. A most dire situation, indeed. Their chattering rowdiness held the town in a veritable grip of chaos. Why, you could hear the clatter from Fetch! Toys and Treats to the Furry Friends Art Gallery back yon!

Well, Max, with his nose sharp as a whip, was the first to track the critters, cornering them by the maple glazed drop-biscuit display. “Fellas,” I mused, following Max’s trail, “I believe a tactical discussion is in order.”

Crouched behind the potted hydrangeas of Pearl Papillon Promenade, Bella offered, “Why don’t we offer them a trade? We’ve got plenty of these treats and Hank’s squeaky chicken to barter.” I eyed my beloved chicken, a bit begrudgingly, I’ll admit – a gentleman does love his trinkets.

But Tilly, wise and wry as only a cat can be, had already seen through the fuss. “Darlings,” she purred, “just show them the orange peels; they despise citrus as much as Hank here detests it.”

It was a plan bold and cunning, one that Twain himself would nod to with a wry smile, I reckon. With a whimsical flounce, I took the stage and brandished the citrus with an exuberance known to none but the French Bulldog of my stripe. The squirrels recoiled, slipping and sliding on the polished Penny tiles of Pawsburgh’s finest establishments, scurrying from the citrus siege.

As quick as the skirmish erupted, peace returned to our fair town. The bandits expelled, and without my cherished squeaky chicken being surrendered, no less.

Triumphant in our ruse, we celebrated with barbecued chicken bits – my favorite, as it were – at Canine’s Cuisine, and not a single hint of citric offense on the wind. Thus went the tale of the Pet Avengers of Pawsburgh, a barking testament that together, no furry friend or clawed comrade will ever stand alone in this magical town of ours.

And should you pass by Pearl Papillon Promenade or Blue Basenji Bay, look closely. You may just catch a glimpse of us, the guardians of delight and merriment, noses to the wind and tails to the sky, steadfast in our jollity and camaraderie.

The End.