Hey Mom,

Got caught up in a wild mishap in Pawsburgh where I was wrongfully accused of snatching a snack. After a stint in jail, the gang and I staged a daring “Great Escape,” and cleared my name—now a local legend! More belly rubs and less celery sticks from now on. 😅

Tail wags and puppy love,
River (aka Tiny Dog)

Well, now, I reckon you’d be hard-pressed to find a day in Pawsburgh as ruffling to my fur as the one when I, River, got hauled off to the hoosegow under a most grievous misunderstanding. Here’s how the whole confounded mishap unfolded.

The morning stretched its warm golden paws lazily over Doberman Dunes, and I, with my coat shimmerin’ like the sun’s own reflection, set forth with my frayed tennis ball – my prized companion next to none. I was minding my affable business on the way to Newfoundland Nook when catastrophe struck in form of a snack snag gone awry.

You see, Mastiff’s Meals has this delectable chicken delicacy, seasoned to perfection, that’ll make any self-respectin’ Swedish Vallhund sit like he’s meeting the Queen dog herself. But someone, likely with a nose and scruples not as sharp as mine, went and twitched a patty straight from the window sill. And would you believe it? The baker points his paw at me!

Before I could so much as whimper my innocence, I was carted off without a chance to explain the details of my alibi. The silent but swift Luna would’ve vouched for my presence along Saluki Sands just moments before. But alas! They had me buttoned up in the shelter faster than you could say “dog’s dinner.”

Now, Pawsburgh’s shelter ain’t no ordinary lock-up. There’s pamperin’ at The Groom Room, and The Pampered Pooch Salon is a place of grandeur, but even they don’t measure up to one’s own cozy kennel by the hearth. I found myself in foreign quarters, pining for the tickle of the breeze through my bristles. I had to concoct an escape, and that’s precisely what I set my mind to do.

Evenin’ wrapped Pawsburgh in its velvet cloak, and my companions, anxious as a pack of hounds at huntin’ time, devised a plan. Max brought me word ‘neath the cover of dusk, his nose quivering with the thrill. “River, we’re breakin’ you out,” he declared, and I could scarcely believe my ears.

The breakout was a work of art, mind you. Shadows played on the walls as the beam of moonlight cast our covert operation into high relief. Luna, agile as the wind itself, kept watch, signaling us with muted tail wags, whilst Max’s nose led him to the weak planks beneath the window. There was a soft whisperin’ of paws against wood, and before the night turned a shade darker, I found myself outside, a free Vallhund once more.

Our tails wagged wild symphonies as we trotted off, the ball now doubly treasured in my maw, the scent of innocence strong in our step. Dog’s Delicacies was our first stop, where gratitude turned into chicken feasts, savored in stolen night-time celebration.

We never spoke of The Great Escape, not directly. Our adventure whispered through Pawsburgh in hushed tales, grander with each telling. And as for me? I spend my days now a little wiser, a touch more grateful for the wind at play in my Nordic fur, and with a keener edge on my impeccable reputation.

But I’ll tell you this much without a hint of exaggeration: never again shall a celery stick cross these Dutch door thresholds of mine.

So hear my bark and let it be known that in Pawsburgh, even the greatest of mix-ups can lead to the most pawsome of adventures.

The End.

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