Hi Mom,

Just wanted to let you know, I’ve been making lots of new friends and helping everyone around here sniff out some fun. Turns out, being the tail-wagging detective is what I’m really good at!

Hugs and tail wags,
Squirrel

Well, I’ll be doggone if it wasn’t one of those nights where the moon hung low like a biscuit just beggin’ to be eaten. My name’s Vivianleigh, a scrappy Maltipoo with a mind sharper than a new chew toy. Most folks around here call me Squirrel, though, on account of my pesky habit of chasin’ anything that skitters fast.

I tell you, life with Mom’s all well and fetch, but when her eyelids get heavy and her dreams start drifting quicker than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, that’s when I sneak off to Pawsburg. That’s where the real tales unfold, the ones you can’t rightly tell humans ’cause they’d never believe a word.

This one particular night, I found myself scurrying over Briard Bridge. It was sturdy, crafted from the finest sticks you ever did see, the kind that crunched beneath your paws with a satisfying snap. The bridge led straight to Malamute Mountain, my next stop. The breeze on the bridge was like a whisper from a thousand wagging tails, beckoning me deeper into the adventure.

I’d been meaning to catch up with Ol’ Rusty, a veteran Bloodhound with a nose like no other. Word around the kibble dish was that Rusty had stumbled upon a secret map, one buried deep within the entrails of Bulldog’s Bbq. The aroma there was enough to make the mightiest of dogs howl at the moon and drool like a pup—tender meats slow-cooked till the bones near fell apart.

But before I get ahead of myself, let me tell you about the map. Rusty claimed it led to the lost Kennel of King Barkalot, an ancient canine king whose treasures were the stuff of legend—rubber balls that bounced forever, sticks that never broke, and bones that replenished themselves every time you gnawed ’em to splinters.

Well, as rosy-furred luck had it, I bumped straight into Rusty near Pawsitively Plush Beds and Bedding. He was gettin’ himself a new cushion, one that was reputed to be so soft you’d think you’d landed among the clouds themselves.

“Evenin’, Squirrel,” Rusty drawled, his voice a gravelly testament to his many years of barkin’ and tracking.

“Rusty, you ol’ hound!” I wagged my tail so fast it near lifted me off the ground. “Heard you got somethin’ that might lead us to King Barkalot’s riches.”

He leaned in close, his breath smellin’ like the remnants of some fiery jerky. “Aye, but it ain’t for the faint of heart. We gotta cross through Pointer Pier, a place notorious for its slippery docks and sly cunning Border Collies. Y’think you’re up to it?”

For a moment, I wondered if it was wiser to just snaffle some treats at Labrador Lunch and call it a night. But then, the glint in Rusty’s eye—an eye that had seen countless adventures and told countless more—got me. I was a dog, not a doodle! What was the purpose of a life if not to live it off the leash?

“Lead the way, Rusty,” I barked, puffing out my chest.

We crossed the Pier with nary a slip, although the Collies did size us up. Eventually, we reached The Pet’s Palette Art Supplies. Turns out the first clue was hidden behind an old painting of Pawsburg from a time before clickers and whistles governed the town.

Rusty, with his uncanny sniffin’ skills, found the next clue quicker than a flea hops off a hot hide. From there, we wound our way through secret tunnels, across fields where corgis played croquet, till we saw it—the Kennel of King Barkalot.

It wasn’t the treasure that got me—though those self-replenishing bones were something else. It was the story, the yarn we spun round the ol’ fire hydrant that night. You see, in Pawsburg, adventures aren’t measured in miles but in memories and the friends you make chasing those endless tails.

By the time dawn broke, I was back home, snug as a pup in my bed. Mom would wake soon, and I’d have a dreamy glint in my eye that told tales without words. But then, if you ever walk past me dreamin’ under a full moon, you’d know the best stories aren’t always barked out loud.