Hey Sam,

Night at the Kabana turned heist film – imagine me, Ash, channeling my inner Frenchie Bond. Thwarted two nocturnal treat thieves with a little Mutt MacGyver magic and some holiday spirit. You’d have been proud 😏. Back to snoring triumphantly on my victor’s bed, treats in paw. Pawsburgh’s safe, you can thank me later.

Tail wags and doggy grins,
Ash 🐾

Listen to the story here

In Pawsburgh, where the cobblestone streets glisten under the affectionate glow of the moon and stars, I, Ash, a most dapper French bulldog of merle distinction, found myself caught in a yuletide conundrum the likes of which our tail-wagging metropolis had not seen before.

It began one hushed evening at the K9 Kabana, Pawsburgh’s finest pet kennel, where several of us were temporary guests while our human companions busied themselves elsewhere. A nibble of Barking Brunch leftovers still lingered in my thoughts as the night wore on. It was just my luck that my dear human, Sam, chose this one time to visit family without realizing he’d be leaving me to defend our honor against two scheming intruders, determined to pilfer our holiday treats and toys.

Max, Luna, and I were mid-debate at the Doggone Deli, savoring every bite of their holiday special when word got out – two humans planning a heist, targeting our temporary home under the veil of night. Can you imagine? Lunacy! This was our Pawsburgh, where the streets are lined with the finest hydrants and every howl is a sonnet.

I rolled my eyes, audaciously might I add, at the notion of two full-sized humans tip-toeing through our diminutive doors. “They’ll be caught in a heartbeat,” I assured Max, whose howl could unsettle even the most secret of midnight marauders.

As a connoisseur of the thrill of the chase, and with my squad at my flanks, I led the pack to K9 Kabana with a plan as plucky as a pup’s first bark. “Let’s turn the tides,” I proposed, a smirk curling my lip, offset only by my oh-so-photogenic glimmering eyes.

Our arsenal was of an unusual sort – squeaky toys from The Woofy Bakery, divinely gooey, and straps of doggie bow ties from The Dapper Dog Salon. The trap was set, as Pawsburghians watched from drawing-room windows lined along Bichon Boulevard. We were the talk of the town.

The moment of truth arrived with a click and creak of the kennel door. Max’s eyes shone with the reflection of Canine’s Cuisine’s neon sign. Luna, her feline delusion momentarily forgotten, prepped the final gambit. The humans, utterly oblivious to the four-legged genius among them, barely crossed the threshold when Max let loose a howl that would’ve inspired Beethoven’s next symphony.

Chaos ensued – a cacophony of squeaks and thuds mingling with festive harmonies of stunned and scrambling intruders. Ornaments from the kennel’s once-lovely tree now lay at their feet. Surprise, gentlemen!

And then, the coup de grâce – a brilliantly placed puddle courtesy of the holiday feast. “Et voilà,” I chuckled under my breath, as Max gave a victorious ‘aroo’ that echoed down the dappled blue corridor.

Pawsburgh police were a mere whiff away, undoubtedly drawn by the lingering scent of fresh-baked doggie croissants. Our interloping pests were as good as kenneled.

As the sun rose on the aftermath, Pawsburgh pawliticians proclaimed our defense a Christmas miracle whispered through the howls and meows alike. Sam was never the wiser, oblivious to the triumphs spun in his absence.

As for me, I lounged on the warm tufts of my kennel bed the next day, a hero crowned in unspoken valor, savoring chicken treats – a taste far superior to victory – and the whispered confessions of an imminent nap, a fitting end to a festive uproar in the land of happy howls and contented dreams.

The End.