Hey Mom,

Had another epic adventure last night! Guarded Pawsburgh’s magic against Clawed the cat burglar, saved the Sapphire Schnauzer and defended our turf. Think of me as a fluffy ninja with a taste for chicken bits and justice. Home safe, curling up for a well-earned nap.

Dreaming of victory,
Frenchie 🐾💤✨

Listen to the story here

In Pawsburgh, intrigue and adventure were as common as tennis balls at the park, and I, Frenchie, was in the thick of it. The moment the moon took its place in the velvet sky, my paws itched for the land of escapades known only to my kind. With humans ensconced in dreams, our time had come.

I squeezed through the flap in the back door—it never ceased to amaze me how accommodating those contraptions could be—and made a beeline for Dachshund Dale where Wally awaited, his walk an amusing mix of nonchalance and bravado. “Evening, Frenchie,” he greeted me, his tone casual but his eyes alive with the thrill of the night.

“Evening, Wally,” I replied, rolling my prized blue ball in anticipation. “What’s the caper tonight?”

The answer came not from Wally but from a flurry of feathers as my pigeon friends descended, cooing frantically. “Trouble,” they warbled. “Big trouble.”

In the heart of Pawsburgh, a scoundrel of a cat known as Clawed had concocted a dastardly plan. This feline fiend—no associate of Whiskers—had his sights on the Sapphire Schnauzer, the gemstone statue that stood proudly on its namesake street, glinting under the silvery moon. They say it held the essence of Pawsburgh’s magic, and Clawed sought to steal it, threatening the very fabric of our haven.

We convened at Pooch’s Pub, the murmurs of my fellow four-legged compatriots a rich tapestry of concern and courage. Over a shared bowl of chicken bits, we hatched a plan. The pigeon trio would surveil from the sky, Wally would charm his way through the Schnauzer pack guarding the street, and I? I would face Clawed.

I found him beneath the Sapphire Schnauzer’s towering form, his claws a hair’s breadth from the gemstone’s surface. “Evening, Clawed,” I called out, my voice steady despite my hammering heart.

“Frenchie,” he hissed, his verdant eyes narrowing. “Foolhardiness suits you as poorly as peanut butter suits citrus.”

“The gemstone isn’t yours to take,” I said, planting my stubby legs firmly on Sapphire Schnauzer Street. Tonight, I would not yield.

He lunged, but I was ready. Remembering the countless hours spent chasing my beloved ball, I dodged his swipe with agility surprising for my stocky frame. Clawed staggered past, his surprise evident even in the dim light.

Together, we danced a perilous tango, my every evasive move a testament to all the moments spent lounging on that hill, visualizing how I would defend my throne. I wasn’t just a meatloaf to be coddled; I was Frenchie, guardian of Pawsburgh.

With a final feint and a well-timed roll—my body responding with the exact precision required—I sent Clawed tumbling into the artfully designed petunia bed by The Furry Friends Art Gallery. The Schnauzer guard arrived, and together we bound the thief with a fetching leash from The Groom Room.

As dawn approached, I returned to my backyard, weary but victorious. The Sapphire Schnauzer stood unblemished, its glow a beacon of the magic we had safeguarded. Wally winked at me through drooping eyelids, and even the pigeons seemed to nod their feathery heads in respect.

Back on Earth, the sun kissed the horizon, and as my mom stirred from slumber, I nestled into my favorite spot on the couch. Humans need fairy tales of their own, after all, and who was I to deny them theirs? But someday, maybe, I would tell her of the night the little meatloaf saved Pawsburgh. For now, though, I closed my expressive eyes and dreamed of blue balls and heroism, the glint of mischief never far from my thoughts.

The End.