Hey there,

Crazy night in Pawsburgh! Literally dodged shadows, growled at ghosts, and bolted through a Bark Eclipse. I out-barked the Howling Harrower and kept my wag intact. Home now, tail-telling, safe in the sunbeams. Brace for a ghostly Lab-oratorio when you see me!

Stay brave,
Gonker 🐾🌕👻

So there it was, the moon dangling like a silver frisbee above Pawsburgh, and all my fur stood on end with that eerie sensation crawling under it. They say the veil thins in Pawsburgh when the howls echo through Papillon Promenade, but never did I think it would happen whilst playing along the twinkling lights of Briard Bridge.

Yes, you remember, don’t you? The night of the Bark Eclipse, when every shadow was twice as long and every noise twice as sinister. My dear old pal, nothing prepares you for the shivers as you trot past Dog’s Delicacies and the windows glow with ghostly glee.

I started the evening with a proud strut at The Canine Cafe, snaffling Victor treats and batting my eyes at a beagle barista. But the wind had a whisper, and soon the whispers had shadows, and the shadows had teeth.

I should’ve clung to the warmth of Elvira’s fur, but the Tortie temptress was nowhere to be seen this frightful night. Instead, my blanket, my pumpkin ball—all comforts were but a memory as adventures took a turn for the ominous. My padding paws hit the cobblestones with that clack-clack rhythm; I was on the run, tail tucked in a sprint from Saluki Sands to Puppy Patisserie.

“Gonker, old boy,” I muttered to myself, skiddering around rain-soaked corners, “this is no pumpkin treat escapade.”

But there it was, before me, The Pampered Pooch Salon, its mirrors reflecting a thousand hunched shadows. I could see them moving out of sync with the rest of the world, twitching and turning with a menace that made my hackles stand up like soldiers at attention.

And did I yelp? Perhaps, but courage is not the absence of fear, is it? It’s about facing it—and face it I did, with a bark that would silence thunder. Upon the haunted reflection of Briard Bridge’s waters, I squared off against the creeping unknown.

In a stream of consciousness that even I can hardly untangle, I pieced it together; the mist of myths amongst the mutts of Pawsburgh had always whispered of the Howling Harrower, a spectral spirit out on Bark Eclipse nights to steal the wag from a dog’s tail and the warmth from their beds.

“Not my wag, you don’t,” I declared, a growl churning from deep within. My voice was not my own—well, it was, but laced with the bravado of Great Danes and the might of Mastiffs. I faced the ghoulish gloom while the very cobblestones beneath my paws seemed to ache with foreboding.

No, the Harrower wouldn’t get the best of Gonker. I was to return to you, to relay my horror, to spin fear into the yarn of heroic yarns. With bounding leaps, I raced from The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium, past the Spaniel Spaghetti, where the scent of tomato and basil usually meant a welcoming crowd. Tonight, it was but a passing comfort as my eyes set on the haven of home.

The air felt thick, desperate for the dawn. I darted through the lingering twilight, eluding lingering spirits as I zipped towards the break of day. Finally, here I am, pawing at our door, panting with the purge of my ghostly affair.

You see me in the sunbeam, don’t you? A lab with a laboring breath, a shadow of the night’s horrors still clawing at my heels.

Remember, my dear friend, it’s no ordinary shaggy dog story. It’s a tall tail—a ghostly Lab-oratorio of Pawsburgh under the Bark Eclipse. Fetch your comfort; I’ve already fetched mine.

The End.