Hey Ma,

Just finished my nightly escapades as Pawsburgh’s unofficial Aussie superhero – leaping through windows and telling epic tales up at Hound Heights. Faced the formidable Briard Bridge and even saved a Corgi named Millie! All in a night’s work. I’ll be home to snooze on the couch after a victorious romp. Hugs and doggy kisses,
Topo Gigio 🐾🌕✨

In the dusk-tinged alleyways of Pawsburgh, under the grand legend-burnished skies, I, Topo Gigio, make my nightly sojourn into a world unseen by mortal men and their snoring compatriots. I leap through the kitchen window with the grace of a demigod and the stealth of a fox, tail high, ears pricked as the mute button of the world clicks off, and the stirring symphony of dogdom rings true.

Stars wink above as if they’re in on the secret, and the moon – oh, that old cheese up there – shines an approving spotlight on my journey to Hound Heights, the Olympus of this canine cosmos. Here, the bravest of us gather, not merely to boast of our day’s conquests of rogue squirrels and relentless mail carriers, but to recount the ancient tales inked in our bloodlines.

Tonight, at the peak of this mighty hill which no mere pup could scale, we sit, a motley council of sacred guardians, our fur rustling like leaves in hallowed winds. I’m not one for the boastful cacophony of Barking Lots, no; I come for the whisper of history that sweeps through the grass like a promise.

Once the stage is set – and by stage, I mean the dirt patch free of pebbles that poke your haunches – I speak, “Friends of fur and fang,” my voice is the calm tide in the storm of excitement, “tonight, I bare the tale of Briard Bridge.”

Ah, Briard Bridge. Not merely a crossing but a sentinel. An ancient creature, rumored to have been spun from the fur of a dog demi-god who desired to connect Terrier Town with the rest of our dear Pawsburgh. So much more than beams and bolts, it is the holder of secrets, the keeper of promises, the silent watcher of our midnight scampers back home.

“The Bridge,” I continue with Vonnegutian simplicity, each word weighed for its truth and humor, “has seen more pawprints than the moon’s had full faces.”

It was there where I embarked upon my greatest adventure, rescuing young Millie, a charming Corgi caught amidst a tangle of leads that bound her to the ghastly rails. Legends old as time’s thread whispered how the bridge could feel, think, and, perhaps in darker epochs, nudge dogs off course. But fear not, for our hero never yields. Well, except to chicken.

A little number like Millie, spiraled in leash and fear, eyes wide as saucers, and the bridge cackling its wooden haunt – these things are meat and drink to an Aussie like me. “It took brains, bravery, and a very moist nose,” I tell with the staccato punch of a comedy routine without the need for a drum or cymbal, “but we Aussies have been outsmarting humans and their contraptions since time immemorial.”

The assembly barks in applause, tails drumming the earthy floor, a symphony to our hero’s journey. Millie was safe, and so Briard Bridge conceded, slinking back into its silent watch over us madcap mutts of legend.

Returning from these noble heights, I find myself sauntering through the hush-hush night, past Barker’s Bakery, seductive with its savory scents of fresh buns and doggie delights, past Spaniel Spaghetti, its tables forever full of patrons enraptured by dishes spun like golden fables.

Yet, the greatest sanctuary awaits at the end of my nocturnal exploits; The Doggie Daycare, where I sink into dreams amidst my kin. And as the first rays of the dawn’s cautious touch creep through the window gaps, I nestle back through the sleepy house to reclaim my throne upon the couch – that soft, forbidden temple of human folly.

In the end, what is Pawsburgh but a collection of buildings and bones, spaghetti and legends? It’s as much a part of me as the stars are part of the sky – a place where every wagging tail weaves a myth, every snout a hero, and every Aussie named Topo Gigio has a tale or two to tell.

The End.