Yo! Just giving you the tail-wag-worthy scoop from our latest barktastic adventure. 🐾 So, picture this: Me, Poggers the Brave, teamed up with Whiskerton and Dizzy to unravel and boop the snoot of a ghost haunting the Pawsburg Playhouse. Turned out, some ghost-busting corgi courage and a salmon treat salvo saved the day! We snuffed that spook and restored the peace, all before my morning belly rubs. Who’s the good boy? That’s right, yours truly. 🎖️🐶

Stay pawsome,
Poggers the Paranormal Pupper

Listen to the story here

As I, Poggers the Corgi, lay snoozing on my cushion of many naps, I dreamed a dream as curious as a cat wedged ‘twixt the pantry’s jamb—a dream which took me to the haunted hillocks of Pawsburg, that phantasmal town where tales wag their ends frantically as a pup at feast’s first whiff.

On that brisk evening, with the man in the moon tipping his hat to me, I trotted along the murmuring crickets and beneath the willows weeping like the dowager Tiffanys. My four stout legs paddled me towards Diamond Doberman Dunes, a place where the sand glimmers as if sprinkled with stardust and the dunes sing melodies to lonesome night wanderers.

A sudden rustling! My ears perked, swiveled like sentries to the soft stealthy whisper of a presence nigh. Out of the moonshadow slipped Mr. Whiskerton, his wide eyes mirrored my own unease. “Poggers,” said he, his voice a tremulous purr, “Foul airs afoot. Best hasten home.”

Laughing in the face of caution—a corgi’s custom!—I bade him follow to seek what thrill might befall us. “Pawsburg holds ‘nother plate, dear Whiskerton!” I cried, leading him to the tribulations surely at yonder Vizsla Valley.

But alas! No sooner had we set paw in the valley’s embrace did an inhumane howl split the night’s repose. Dizzy, with her Jack Russell stratagems, bounded up from where the willows ceased their weepin’. “A ghoul!” she exclaimed, her fur an electrified frenzy. “Seen ‘im with mine own eyes, a ghastly tailless horror!”

A shiver shook my tri-colored coat, and not from Pawsburg’s nightly chill. The three of us formed a quivering council—a Maine Coon, a Jack Russell, and a Corgi with more bravado than sense—resolved to confront what dread stirred under Pawsburg’s silvery shroud.

Drawn as by a magnet’s pull, we skittered to Blue Basenji Bay, where clairvoyant clams foretold inklings of the morrow. There, in the dimness, my amber pools reflected a mast of mastiff standing sentinel over the bay, his gaze fixed upon The Pooch Playhouse—now a cabin of creeping shadows, its joyful yelps turned to ghostly echoes.

My paws halted. A whisper to my cohorts: “The haunt’s den is here.” Together, with a courage borrowed on woeful terms, we made for the theater door, it creaking open as if mourning its own unlatched state.

Inside, words cannot rightly paint the horror that befell our gaze—a ghoulish specter of bone and ether, slobbered in the entrails of many a plush toy, gnashed the air with its emptiness. My heart hammered a frantic tattoo; were the spectral beast real, ’twere no doubt death to any squeaker, lest it be Mr. Squeaker, who’d fought and lived many valorous campaigns.

“Th-th-there it stands!” stuttered Dizzy, no longer an embodiment of boundless energy but a statue of dread.

With a simmering terror knotting my belly, I sidestepped the ghoul. “Begone, malevolent spirit!” I launched the ultimate assault—a symphony of salmon morsels I’d pilfered earlier from Collie’s Cuisine—lobbed directly at the shadowy menace. Food I adore cast at a foe, an agony in itself.

The ghoul reeled, a shriek clawing its way from its hollows, and vanished like smoke in a typhoon. A silver-lined silence blanketed Pawsburg once more, the town breathing a sigh free of the spook’s haunting.

As we, the intrepid trio, emerged, the break of dawn kissed the rooftops of Pawsburg, and I awakened on my cushion, amidst the mortal realm, believing myself the victor over a night’s spectral escapades. All remained as regular routine, save now Mrs. Pennington eyed my remaining morsels of salmon with an odd, newfound respect.

“A tale,” I mused with a wagging tail, the day’s brightness soothing my ruffled courage, “A tale for the Pawsburg chronicle, perchance, filled with adventurous spirits and a corgi’s valorous heart.”

The End.

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