Hey Jamie,

Caught some bumbling burglars in a comic caper at Pawsburgh! Can you believe it? Me, Bentley, the Bulldog Detective, outwitted two nitwits with fur-brained schemes & saved the day. Tail wags to bravery and steak rewards! 🐾

Your four-legged hero,
Bentley 🕵️‍♂️🦴

Listen to the story here

As the gentle shadows of evening caressed the lively streets of Pawsburgh, I, Bentley, found myself in a rather peculiar situation. I’ll have you know that underneath this brindle coat and beyond the snuffles of my bulldog snout, lay the cunning mind well-suited to outfox even the slickest of intruders—and that would come in quite handy tonight.

I had been delivered to The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium by my dear but momentarily forgetful human Jamie, who was convinced a festive sojourn might do wonders for my disposition. Little did Jamie know that I had grander plans. Why settle for embroidered pillows when the storied enchantments of Pawsburgh awaited?

So, there I was, lounging lavishly in my temporary quarters, when a rather uncouth ruckus arose. Two shadows, clumsier than a pair of hounds at a cat’s soirée, had infiltrated the peace of our holiday haven. I suppose they fancied themselves burglars, though their finesse suggested otherwise. Opinions are like puppies; everyone has one, but these fellows’ incompetence couldn’t be mistaken.

Now, in stories of yore, the intruders would meet their match in clever traps laid by a quaint little human boy, but dear reader, remember you are in hallowed Pawsburgh, and the defender of this fortress is none other than yours truly—a bulldog with a plan.

I assembled my comrades, Marley and Daisy, along with a motley crew from Bark-n-Bite Bistro. “Gentlecanines,” I addressed my assembly with the solemnity of a judge passing sentence, “it is time we protect our palatial kennel from these fiendish fiends.” Marley’s tail was a metronome of excitement while Daisy offered supportive, albeit damp, licks of affirmation.

The intruders, whom I affectionately named Nit and Wit for their outstanding lack of sapience, bumbled towards The Canine Cafe. A well-timed howl from Marley set them off course, leading them hilariously into the clear embrace of a pond at Eskimo Estuary.

Our tactics escalated in whimsy and wit. At Samoyed Square, Nit thought he snagged Harold, my plush and valiant hedgehog—but in a classic switcheroo, he grasped a bothersome porcupine from Pooch’s Pub instead. Wit followed suit with a yelp that shook the stars.

When they dared approach Mastiff Meadows, it was Daisy’s turn. A tripwire of leashes set against the silver luminescence of moonlight cascaded them into a pit camouflaged splendidly with leaves from Mastiff’s own storied trees.

By the time they’d extracted themselves from the mess, tails between their legs and egos thoroughly muddied, the authorities of Pawsburgh—an elite squad of German Shepherds—were upon them. They didn’t stand a chance against such nobility.

As the hooligans were ushered out, Jamie returned, apologetic for the holiday mix-up and laden with guilt treats—steak, of course. I don’t do carrots.

As I settled into the familiar comfort of sun-dappled floors and restored calm, Harold by my side, I contemplated the evening’s escapades. Every dog has its day, and let’s just say, mine had a touch more sparkle. It’s not every holiday that a bulldog with a stub of a tail manages to outwit two bandits with nothing but sheer audacity and a bit of Pawsburgh charm.

And so, in the illustrious reaches of doggie tales, let it be known that Bentley, the English bulldog with a face of amiable confusion, defended his keep with the wit of Dorothy Parker, and a bravado that would make the bravest of lions tip their manes in respect.

The End.