Hey pal, just staged my very own ‘Pawsburg Prison Break’ from the Hound Holdup. Your gal Saddy, a.k.a. the Furry Houdini, is on the lamb—dodged kennel keepers, duped Mr. Scruffins, and darted for freedom. Meet me at the usual spot. Got stories that’ll make the fur on your tail stand up! 🐾 Catch ya soon, Saddy.

I guess you could say things in Pawsburg aren’t always a walk in the park, but I never imagined I’d be plotting an escape from the confines of the Hound Holdup, our local animal shelter. The place you land when your collar’s been snagged by some well-meaning but utterly confused dog catcher.

So there I was, Saddy, with my luxurious golden-brown fur not so sleek within the sterile walls of what those humans probably tout as a “temporary home for the misunderstood.” Wrongfully accused of ruffling the feathers of Mrs. Tabby’s precious Persian. In my defense, it was a misunderstanding of epic proportions—I mean, look at me, I’m more lover than fighter.

I had to get back to my true home, before the sun went down, no less. Night has a way of turning every shadow into a puzzle I can’t and don’t want to solve. A small mutt like me isn’t meant for cold concrete—it’s sprints down Sapphire Schnauzer Street and digging into an entrée at Golden Grub.

“Okay, Saddy, focus,” I muttered to myself. “You’ve watched ‘Lassie Comes Home’ like a zillion times for the drama. Time to channel that and get crafty.”

The plan? A bold, daring, and yet undeniably stylish break for freedom. An escapade so perfectly executed, Duke and Pixie would be howling about it for months.

First up: A distraction. With my trusty squeaky bone—the one I cleverly buried in the play area during yard time—I ignited a symphony of squeaks, chaos erupting as every pooch in sight pounced in pursuit of the source. Those shelter supervisors didn’t stand a chance; even the sternest kennel keeper couldn’t resist a peek at the pandemonium.

Next: The great slink-off. Using my diminutive stature to its fullest, I slipped beneath the legs of distracted staff, my movements as smooth as the caramel tresses of my coat. I navigated through the narrow corridor, ducking behind a cart of blankets en route to my destination—the door.

“Hey, look at her go, she’s an escape artist!” some pup yelled.

“Yeah, you go, Saddy!” cheered another from the confines of their pen.

There were obstacles, of course. One was Mr. Scruffins, the sleepy guard dog who had a taste for cheese—ugh, cheese!—which was fortuitously stashed for this very moment. A quick toss of the dairy distraction, and he was smitten, chowing down while I made my move.

Finally, there it was: the final stretch. But timing was everything. I could see through the glass doors—the glimmer of dusk outside, and beyond, freedom. I would need to tail a human on their exit and, like a shadow, my escape would be unseen, slippery as a sly fox in a henhouse.

Then, the moment came. A staff member pushed the door open, heavy with a box destined for the dumpster. I took my chance, zigzagging with the finesse of a canine contortionist and slipping through the narrowing gap like it was Jade Jack Russell Junction.

Barely out, I took off. The wind rushed through my fur, and the smells of freedom filled my nostrils. As the shelter shrunk in the distance, the sky blazed with the setting sun’s reflection off Quartz Qimmiq Quarter’s rooftops.

“I did it. I’m a daytime diva with a record for breaking out,” I thought triumphantly. Just wait until I dish this dirt over a Shredded Chicken Supreme at Paw-tisserie. What a tale! Even in Pawsburg, where adventures abound, this one was for the books—or rather, the barks.

But before then, there was the matter of scurrying back to the familiar and heartfelt welcomes of my beloved neighborhood, where Lola the Labradoodle would surely be waiting with an ear ready for gossip and Duke and Pixie bursting to embark on our next adventure, projected onto the starlit lawn of the park—our nirvana.

The End.