Oi, 👋 it’s Susie here a.k.a. “The Beagle Burglar Buster”! Just an FYI, your fave furry sleuth single-pawedly foiled a heist at the kennel last night. Channeled my inner ghost, gave those two-legged intruders the scare of their lives, chased them through squeaky toy minefields, & saved Pawsburgh from naughtiness. The tails are wagging, and the legend grows! 🐾💪👻 #HeroPup #TheyHadARuffNight #VictorySmirks 😏🎖

Listen to the story here

Well, let me tell you about the time I was your inadvertent hero, the defender of our hallowed grounds here at Pawsburgh. It’s a classic tale of wit versus brawn, dressed in fur and with floppy ears—I’m the wit, if you were in any doubt.

It was one of those crisp winter nights where frost was painting filigree patterns on the windows of Samoyed Square, and our two-legged companions had scampered off, leaving us to our own curious devices. I found myself, Susie, the intrepid beagle, in the custodianship of the local kennel—a place of respite when the folks are out making merry and don’t want to think we’re up to any shenanigans.

Now, as fate would have it, this wasn’t your typical guarding gig, because on that very eve Pawsburgh was graced, or rather, disgraced by the presence of two would-be intruders. Humans, no less, seemingly convinced there was some holiday loot to liberate from within our furry confines. Clearly, they had never met the furry avenger that is yours truly.

These two louts, lacking any semblance of subtlety, made quite the racket attempting to force their way in. I must confess, it displeased me to the highest degree, disrupting my yuletide contemplation and, worse yet, my reverie of Setter’s Steakhouse gourmet leftovers.

It became distinctly clear to me—these gentlemen weren’t part of the usual caroling choir. There I was, a lone beagle staring down the barrel of adversity, and did I cower? Ha! I’ve seen scarier things in my water dish.

I hastily devised a plan, channeling my inner caped crusader, sans cape and utility belt. One might find the ordeal distressingly dire, but not I. I utilized my quick wits and a keen sense of theatrics. With a little manipulation of the shadows and my best attempt at a blood-curdling howl, borrowed from my husky pal’s repertoire, I convinced these crooks that Pawsburgh was haunted by specters of the canine kind. I quiver to think of the royalties these ghost stories would fetch me at The Wagging Tail Bookstore.

When my eerie howl didn’t immediately send them packing, I resorted to a chase as thrilling as the time I raced my shadow across Opal Pomeranian Park. Through the kennel I led them, past the art exhibits of The Furry Friends Art Gallery and straight into the boobytraps of my making. Who knew a squeaky toy could serve as a higher calling than a mere stress ball for the jaws?

It was slapstick and circumstance—a dance of hapless thieves and narrow escapes. Lilly the Labrador, she’s a laugh a minute, would’ve been proud. In the end, they tripped their way out the door, falling over each other and my assorted collection of chew toys—tactical obstructions, in the war room of my mind.

The townsfolk of Pawsburgh, they called me a hero when they returned, but alas, a dramatic recounting was beyond their comprehension, what with the inherent language barrier. Sometimes wagging your tail has to suffice—the universal sign language of “job well done.”

Yet, when the shimmering veil of night cascaded across Samoyed Square once more, and the chaos of the evening was but a memory, there I lay across my porch, the very picture of innocence. All save for a sly smirk and the faint scent of victory that lingered, as I nestled up to my toy squirrel. And as for those dim-witted intruders, well, let’s just say they had a ‘ruff’ night and leave it at that.

The End.