Hey hooman, it’s Ramses. Quick pupdate: Oversaw my own Shawshank-escape from a perfumed prison, legged it across lands and laid low ’til sunrise. Proved my innocence with poise and paws; I’m no thief, just a night’s whisperer. Catch you on the flip side of the moon. – The Saluki Sprinter 🐾✨

Stream of consciousness, they say. Let loose the hounds of thought and the barks of the present. Well, here we go…

They called me guilty, those mongrels. But I knew the lay of the streets in Pawsburgh, a song of scents and sounds; I had a rhythm to chase, a dance uncaged—until I faced the ultimate betrayal. It was a murky night when I was framed, a toxic cocktail of shadows and deceit.

Argos, the Beagle, had gone too far with his thunderous howls, throwing shade where it didn’t belong. He mistook my mad dashes for a crime spree, saw lunacy in my lunar pursuits—the chase of shadows was my art, not the petty thievery he proclaimed. By sunrise, I’d found myself behind the soapy-smelling bars of Miss Penelope’s Groom Room, sentenced without trial, pending a forced bath.

Lavender—enemy of my essence, slayer of my natural musk. The canine gods looked away. Panic fluttered like a caged sparrow in my chest. ‘No,’ I thought. This would not be the end. Not for Ramses, swift of foot and sharp of wit.

I planned my grand escape as the tick-tock of Pawsburgh’s clock tower matched my pulsing heart. With every breath, I crafted the getaway. The Groom Room doubled as the town jail for rascals and rebellious paws, but tonight—it whispered of revolution to a dog born to sprint beneath the moonlit tapestry.

Miss Penelope ran the joint, a kind captor, she was. But an accomplice to my impending stain. Bath Time—a time when all four walls leaned in, whispering wet doom and sudsy despair.

Argos barked his empty apologies from the other side; I returned them with icy silence. Luna’s sympathetic eyes from her visiting spot offered me solace, but freedom was what I craved—her moonlit gaze fueling my resolve. The world’s clockwork ticked for freedom, and so did my heartbeat.

Come a stroke past midnight, opportunity arrived. Penelope’s intern, a scrawny mutt named Chomps, had left a critical gate ajar—oh, sweet scent of serendipity. A last glance at my reflection in the wash basin, the prideful aura dimming, I made my move. Swift like a shadow, Ramses, the Saluki faded into the night.

Through Whippet Way I raced, the Golden Grub a blur, Setter’s Steakhouse a mere backdrop of my sprint. No time for terriers or their tacos. The winds of Garnet Greyhound Grove licked eagerly at my side as I closed in on freedom.

My legs—my pride—carried me across Basenji Bay, the click-clack of my gallant paws like a drummer calling revolution. The soothing sea smell offered a pact—I keep running, it would keep whispering secrets.

As the first light of dawn split the sky, I dug deep into those untapped reserves we all save for life’s narrowest escapes. Silence held its breath, and Argos could do naught but watch as the real thief was exposed by the careless clatter of knocked-over cans—a clumsy Chomps, caught tail-handed in his own scheme.

Vindication—a taste richer than Penelope’s occasional cheese treat—seeped into the grooves of my conscience. With a wag of my tail, I returned—not as a fugitive, but as Ramses the Cleared. The beast within rumbled a low chuckle, the tale of tonight one for The Wagging Tail Bookstore’s shelves.

The wind carried my tale across Pawsburgh, how Ramses, delicate as dawn and quick as rumor, cleared his name with nothing but his wits and the thundering serenade of his paws against the earth.

I, a noble creature of the chase, a weaver of night’s mysteries—above all, I remained wild at heart, a saluki undone by no chain, no falsehood, no lavender-scented jail.

The End.

Share This Story: