Hey Mom! 🐾 Today, I helped the Williams family rescue their lost kitten from the storm drain. It was a lot of sniffing and barking, but we did it! All in a day’s work for your brave pup. 😄🐶

Love, Mimi.

### Miracle’s Courageous Night in Pawsburg

It was dusk, the kind of twilight that makes even the bravest dogs’ fur stand on end. I, Miracle—yes, Mimi to my closest pals—had just watched Mom head off to sleep. With a swift glance to ensure the coast was clear, I pawed gently at the enchanted collar that allowed me to slip seamlessly into Pawsburg. As the azure tendrils of the portal wrapped around me, I could almost hear the whisper of adventure.

I settled on Whippet Way, where the streetlights flickered like eerie winks in the darkness. “Bleu?” I called out to my pit bull buddy. Bleu materialized from the shadows, her blue fur blending perfectly with the night. She was shorter than most, stocky and strong, and the perfect comrade for our little nocturnal jaunts.

“Mimi,” she said, her voice tinged with excitement. “Have you heard? There’s a new haunt at Opal Pomeranian Park.”

“Haunt?” I echoed, eyeing the moon that hung low and heavy.

“Some say it’s the ghost of Sir Barkington, a mastiff from the olden days,” whispered Bleu dramatically, causing her voice to quiver.

“Let’s check it out,” I suggested, my half-blue eye glistening with daring. While I might have been born with a disability, I knew it took more than a spectral mastiff to frighten me off.

The park was unusually quiet, giving the trees a chance to hum their ghostly lullabies. We trotted quietly, our paws scarcely making a sound on the soft grass. As we passed the Puppy Patisserie, its normally inviting aroma of fresh pâté was replaced by an ominous scent of decay.

“There, by the fountain!” Bleu pointed dramatically. And sure enough, a spectral form seemed to be pacing around the marble water feature.

“Alright, let’s split up. You circle in from the left,” I said, nodding strategically, “I’ll sneak around from the right.”

“Roger that, captain,” Bleu responded playfully, but her eyes were serious.

The air grew colder as I moved closer to the fountain, each step bringing a sense of foreboding that wrapped around me like an icy leash. “Sir Barkington, is that you?” I called out bravely.

The spectral figure turned, its form coalescing into the translucent shape of a massive mastiff. “Who dares disturb my eternal walk?” it boomed, its voice sending shivers down my spine.

“It’s Miracle,” I replied, my voice unwavering. “Why do you haunt this park, Sir Barkington?”

“Unfinished business,” he growled, a deep sorrow in his hollow eyes. “Someone stole my favorite bone and hid it here centuries ago. Without it, I can never rest.”

“You’re in luck,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “Because there isn’t a mystery this French Bulldog can’t solve.”

Bleu joined me at that moment, the reassurance of her presence uplifting. “Where do we start?” she asked.

We began searching, sniffing every inch of the park by moonlight. After what seemed like hours, near The Pet’s Playhouse, we found it—a dirt-encrusted bone, ancient yet remarkably intact.

“Here, Sir Barkington,” I announced, my paw holding out the prize.

The ghost smiled, a sad, grateful smile. “Thank you, Miracle,” he said, his form beginning to fade. “You’ve given me peace.”

As Sir Barkington dissipated into the ether, the park seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, the warmth returning to the air along with the scents of the Puppy Patisserie. Bleu and I sat by the fountain, exhausted but triumphant.

“You did it, Mimi,” Bleu said, nudging me with her snout.

“We did it,” I corrected her, grinning widely. “Now, how about some Paw-lickin’ Pancakes to celebrate?”

With spirits high and tails wagging, we loped off in search of a well-deserved feast, the valiant French Bulldog and her blue-hued pit bull friend, ready for whatever the night—and Pawsburg—had to offer next.