Hey Clara, guess what? Tonight, I herded some mischievous felines out of Akita Alley under Vito the Bonefather’s orders! Max, Luna, and I restored peace and scored some beef jerky along the way. No biggie, just another night in Pawsburg! 🐾 – Nellie

—

In the twilight hours of a routine Wednesday, Pawsburg came to life under a gentle moonlit glow. The night shift of our clandestine canine escapades was about to begin, and as the ancient grandfather clock in Clara’s living room struck twelve, a familiar shivering thrill coursed through me. As stealthy as a shadow, I slipped past Clara’s bed, my nimble paws making barely a whisper.

Doberman Dunes bustled with the energy of hundreds of paws padding against the cooled sands. Tonight, I had a mission. No, not herding sheep—although that’s admittedly a passion of mine. Tonight, I had to meet The Bonefather. He controlled this town, through a delicate balance of moxie, charm, and frankly, a frightening amount of charisma. Yes, mix that with a hint of beef jerky and the respect of every doggo in the land, and you had him—the top dog of Pawsburg.

Decked in my signature border-collie flair, I wove through the crowd of playful pups. There was Max, the golden retriever of Pawsburg, his tail wagging like a metronome fueled by enthusiasm, and Luna, that sleek greyhound who could nap in more elegance than a ballroom full of royalty.

“Nellie, you made it!” barked Max, his face shimmering with the undeniable glint of a thousand fetch games won.

“Nellie,” Luna greeted solemnly, “The Bonefather awaits.”

We sidestepped vendors setting up their snacks along Bichon Boulevard, the tantalizing tales of Pup’s Paella and Wagging Whisk tickling my nose. I sensed the eyes of the Bonefather’s loyal lieutenants as we passed The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium, where the felines often engaged in highly delicate negotiations with our lot—strictly paws off, naturally. We soon reached our destination—a quaint corner beneath an enormous oak tree, wrapped in the shadows of night.

Ramsey, a grizzled old Bulldog with a perpetually chewed cigar, sat beneath the oak.

“Nellie,” his voice like gravel caught up in a meat grinder. “You’ve been summoned.”

Summoned by the Bonefather! That piqued one’s curiosity more than a buried bone on a sunny day. I padded cautiously toward a cluster of beechwood crates forming a makeshift throne.

There, the Bonefather sat—none other than an elder Bloodhound named Vito. Vito had been ruling Pawsburg far longer than any dog had a right to. His droopy eyes betrayed nothing but a deep well of thoughtful consideration. Beside him, his consigliere, Rosco the Poodle, looked as sharp as a freshly groomed topiary.

“Nellie,” Vito began in a voice thick with a bark that had seen its share of wars over old shoes. “We have heard of your talent… your gift for herding.”

I tilted my head, a motion Clara always found endearing, but which here was simply to mask my bafflement. Herding was what I did. What I lived for. Why was this news to anyone, least of all Vito?

“There’s been… let’s say… an encroachment of feline mischief along Akita Alley,” Vito went on. “We need someone with, how shall I put this—a commanding presence.”

“Commanding presence, eh?” I barked, “I’ll have those cats running in a line straighter than a trail of beef jerky in no time.”

His gaze softened, as he nodded—a motion that sent ripples through his jowls.

“Take Max and Luna. Handle this with care, amiga,” Vito intoned. “Ensure they know—the Bonefather never forgets.”

An hour later, Akita Alley was a symphony of chaos—a thrilling dance of herding, barking, and feline bewilderment. With Max bounding around in golden exuberance and Luna darting through the shadows, the alley soon returned to its rightful order.

Back beneath the oak tree, Vito’s muzzle lifted into a fractional smile.

“You have served well, Nellie. What might you desire as a reward?”

“Beef jerky would do just fine,” I replied, with a wag.

“Consider it done,” Vito replied grandly, and for a moment, the world seemed as balanced and perfect as Doberman Dunes under a moonlit night.

Under that serene canopy, as my friends and I trotted away from our successful mission, Max leaned in with a playful nudge, “Pizza tonight?”

“Only if it comes with beef jerky,” I barked.

And thus, Pawsburg returned to its usual revelry—a place where the moon shined, the breezes whispered through, and every dog had its day.

—

The End.