Hey Mom,

Just saved Bella from the clutches of the Pawsburgh Pound with my buddies. Required stealth, crepes, and an escape through air vents. All in a day’s work for a dog with my charm and a nose for heroics. Details later over a bowl of kibble.

Paws and kisses,
Kilo Smilo 🐾😎🦴

Listen to the story here

The name’s Kilo, and buddy, let me tell you I’ve seen some days, but this one’s pure, unfiltered chaos with a side of kibble. It started like any other journey to Pawsburgh, the town where us dogs shake off our collars and become legends.

So, I’m minding my business, lounging by the Shiba Inlet, my paws skimming the water, when I see Max trotting over with a look in his eyes that says trouble’s his middle name. “Kilo, you’ve gotta help me,” he barks, his little legs a blur of urgency. “Bella’s been dog-napped—snatched by the notorious Catcher, and held at the Pawsburgh Pound!”

It’s like a bad dream, except I don’t ever dream about exercising this much. Without a game plan, my robust, Ghost black tri American Bully frame won’t go unnoticed, especially not by the Pound’s watchdogs. Still, for Bella? I’d swim across the Atlantic in a doggy paddle race.

Cue Mission: Impossible theme.

I sprint toward the Pound with Max dashing underfoot. The rusting bars of the Pound stand between freedom and doggie despair like some kind of twisted Twilight Bark. But rumor has it, they’ve got a taste for corruption, the kind chicken could solve—my speciality.

“Okay, so here’s the sitch,” I mutter to Max, who practically vibrates with anxiety. “We need a distraction. Something so dramatic, they won’t notice a dog the size of a small horse breaking in.”

“I heard the guard loves Corgi’s Crepes,” Max offers with a hopeful wag.

“Hope he likes them more than his job,” I snicker.

Under the cover of twilight, we pull it off. Max struts into the open with a crepe on his back like a furry waiter, and the bewitched faces of the guards follow. Meanwhile, I use my beefy stature not for brawn but subtlety, slipping through the shadows before anyone’s the wiser.

Inside, it’s like the world’s least exciting escape room. I find Bella with that Spaniel sparkle in her eyes, even behind the bars. “Bella, it’s bust-out time,” I declare. Not the brightest things to bark out loud, but finesse isn’t my style.

And then, because no plan is complete without hiccups, citrus air freshener wafts through the vents. My Achilles’ heel. Coughing and nose wrinkled, I feel the jig’s as good as up, but Bella springs into action. She reveals a bone—my bone.

“Chew this, now!” she commands. I don’t argue. Chomping down on the rubber, thoughts of citrus doom dissipate.

Exploiting an overlooked flaw in our cell—the result of Bella’s earlier recon—we’re cramming through an air vent when a guard sniffs out our trail. “Scramble!” I whisper-yell.

We emerge breathless and free by Pointer Pier, where Onyx Otterhound Oasis gleams like a beacon of canine freedom under the moonlight.

Pawsburgh’s an odd place, a Land of Barks and Whiskers, and I’m not just another pretty muzzle around here. Bella, Max, and I share a tail-wagging toast at The Canine Cafe, no hard feelings against the backdrop of Wagging Whisk aromas.

“Another day, another daring escape,” I bark with a wink.

This town thrives on tales of valor and mischief, etching our adventures into legend one paw print at a time. Until then, I’m Kilo, the dog who beats the rap and pounds the Pound with a little help from his friends—and a chicken crepe.

The End.