Hey there,

Just a quick pupdate from yours truly, Ruby the Rescuer! 😎 Engaged in a little undercover operation at the citadel—turns out, thwarting holiday heists is my new party trick. The baddies didn’t stand a chance with my stealth and wits. All’s well that ends with tail thumps by the fire!

Catch you on the flip side,
Ruby Begonia 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

Wouldn’t you know it, here I am, Ruby Begonia, knee-deep in another far-fetched fiasco. Ripe as a late summer peach for one of my calamitous tales? Brace yourself. The drama unfolded on a crispy-cold evening with the whispers of winter waltzing through Pawsburg. My humans had embarked on a holiday expedition, leaving me in the trusted paws of the local pet kennel—my temporary abode of walls and whimsy.

Ah, but this was not just any kennel. This was a veritable Fort Knox for the four-legged, known to the discerning doggy public as Sir Sniff-a-lot’s Citadel. A place festooned with plush pillows and the ambrosial aroma of Woof Waffles wafting through the luminescent air. Truly, a dog’s Shangri-La, but I digress.

The heart of my account begins on the eve of Yappy Howlidays. The citadel was as tranquil as a napping bulldog, when suddenly the serenity was savaged. Two shadowy intruders—thicker than the plot of a mystery novel—slipped through the svelte moonlight, intent on holiday heist.

But hark! Fear not, for Ruby Begonia, vigilant as ever, was about to ensure the only thing stolen this cold night would be several servings of sympathy for the ill-fated fools who’d dare cross paws with me.

It struck me in a twinkling—the plan, I mean. Down Whippet Way, past the Emerald Eskimo Estuary, lay the countless capers I’d apprenticed under the stars; quirks and perks of Pawsburg terrain were scribbled in the margins of my mind like miscellaneous musings in a poet’s journal.

First, a sly luring to Corgi’s Crepes, where the scent of blinis and biscuits led many a snout astray. A tactful tumble of trash and the clang of cans created a cacophony so grand, it’d have the thieves thinking the kennel K9s had invoked the spirit of Howl-iday past.

A dash and a dart to The Snooty Snout Boutique, and behold! A twist, a twirl, and the velveteen ropes ensnared them tighter than the grasp of societal norms on a freelance feline.

But the pièce de résistance lay in their lips smacking sighting of the hedgehog, my plush comrade of courage. “Looks pricey, this trinket,” one said, greed glinting in his dull eyes.

“Indeed,” agreed the other, none the wiser.

And like a bolt from the blue, doubt not that Ruby Begonia delivered her debacles deftly. A squeeze, a squeak, and the sound of squeaky critters rallied the masses. Luna the cat—silent as mist on the moors—maneuvered the mirror to flash a light show so vivid, it startled the bejeezus out of our bewildered burglars.

“Sweet biscuits! They got lasers!” one hollered, stumbling back into Collie’s Cuisine, where pots and pans played percussion to his rumpus retreat.

Once the dogwatch was on them like Spaniels on spilt steak, I couldn’t help but waggle a wry grin. For in the midst of mild mayhem, my chase ended not in capture, but in a cozy curl by the fire, where stories are spun and legends are birthed.

The kennel was quieter than a church mouse’s musings as the thieves were shown the door (by law, of course), and I, Ruby Begonia, once again held sentinel under the sleepy stars of Pawsburg.

As for my humans, returned and none the wiser? “Oh, nothing much,” I’d respond as only a dog can when asked of her days, my tail conducting an orchestra of unspeakable adventures in a flurry of contented thumps. “Just the usual Pawsburg liveliness!”

Why, on the subject of truth, it’s only as clear as the tales we hold in our hearths and the haphazard heroics in our hearts. And mine, dear friends of fur and fanciful flights, beats a yarn worth remembering.

The End.

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