Hey there! 🐾 Just wanted to update you on my epic adventure: I might be a regular ol’ golden retriever, but it turns out I’m pretty good at sniffing out mysteries and making new friends. Who knew my love for treats would lead to saving the day? Can’t wait to wag my tail through another chapter! – Rileykins

Call me Riley, good folks of the human world—though when I’m off on a frolic through Pawsburg, everyone calls me Muzzy. Now, let me spin you the yarn of one of the most bewitched nights my paws ever trotted on. Picture this: a black and white Border Collie with more pep than a crackerjack surprise, meandering down Whippet Way just as the moon tipped its hat to nightfall.

I’ve heard tell that some canines need a reason to embark on a grand adventure, but for a dog like me, there’s simply no summons greater than the swift scuttle of a squirrel, or the rustle of leaves whispering of forbidden treasures. On this particular eve, the air was alive with just such allure.

No sooner did I step paw into Harrier Harbor than the murmurings of the water lured me like magic. I behaved as if I was still in uniform, considering my occupation as Pawsburg’s sponsored Policeman. Not a night went by that I wouldn’t give a firm woof to those waters, ensuring no salmon took undue liberties with the seals residing thereabouts.

Just when I was settling in and preparing for a dose of loquacious winds, there emerged a most peculiar sight: a crew of Pomeranians rowing by on a yacht, daringly venturing towards Pom’s Pies. Had I known there’d be pie at the end of their voyage, I could have rethought my allegiance to the shores! But no time for wistful reckonings—duty still called.

Trotting across to Cocker Courtyard, I was met by the unbridled exuberance of my dear pals, Vincent, Zack, and Neka. All Border Collies, just the dignified kind I’m accustomed to: ever smart, ever spry, not a dull tail between us.

“Evenin’, Muzzy!” shouted Zack, the most stoic of babysitters when with grandkids, though forever one to greet a squadron with unmatched charisma.

Bruhahaha, went my reply. “I’ve a notion Growler, the African Grey parrot, might’ve bossed me a smidgen more than usual today, and it set my teeth on high alert!” Recalling how that cheeky bird barks out commands as if born solely to irk me, I bounced on all fours to ease my vexation.

As the Pawsburg clock danced on with unwatched hands, I and my cohort set our sights on none other than Pawfect Pastries. Further evidence was born to our theory that ice creams were meant more for dogs than people. We leaped in joy, pure and ever-flowing like the rivers whistling down mountains on fire with autumn hues.

It was a village fête in its splendor, that Cocker Courtyard: murmurs of gentled jail-breaks from the spa over at Rover’s Retreat trickled through puffed-up, playful dog gossip, and newly woven bandanas from Paws and Claws Clothiers bedecked our furry necks with style befitting four-legged regality.

Before long, the skies yielded to the restless morn and the tinsel glow of this secret world succumbed to the persistent inkling of human day—cues that we, furry residents, must take to leave for now.

As I ambled back with a mind full of camaraderie and adventure, I couldn’t help but flash back to earlier ventures unmasking deer or skulking squirrels near the mountain tops in our world beyond Pawsburg. Ah, but behind eyelids still aloft on dreams, another adventure awaited me on the morrow. With a flick of my tail and dreams of Frisbee skies, I fit into familiar warmth, awaiting the next time I’d tread the fine cobbles of Pawsburg once more.

And as champions in the clandestine closeness of our shared haven, we awaited not the dawning of wagging tails that disguised, for a few fond, drifting hours, the harsh herald of the world above.