“Hey Dad, Sooo…was sniffin’ round & found this weird blinkin’ thing. Thought it might be a meat smoker (don’t judge). Got the whole town sniffin’ too! Turns out just a standard human gadget (lame, I know). Jokes aside, quite the riot it was, and they’re calling me a hero. Always making you proud! – Little slice of Angel pie”

Listen to the story here

Allow me to recount a day of bizarre hilarity in the life of our beloved Holly in Pawsburg, our town renowned for capricious encounters.

Narrow rays of dawn broke through the dappled canopy, painting brush strokes of light onto Holly’s splotched coat. With a stretch and a yawn, her morning routine unspooled slowly. “No obedience classes today, Holly,” I muttered, oblivious of the adventures looming.

After a hearty breakfast, she instinctively trotted to the backyard, her sanctuary. The strange things occurred on the beach, as the locals often whispered, but where Bulldogs were involved, they had a knack for ferreting out bizarre happenings regardless of geography. Today, the sanctuary had its surprise – a cryptic and inexplicable object.

A peculiar, blinking contraption buried under a fern, crackling with odd sounds, drew my eyes. I felt a tingle of ancient, elusive instincts, ones we canines share with our forefathers – wolves. But as an English Bulldog, there was, of course, another buzzing instinct that swayed my actions. Food.

“Perhaps,” I thought, hitting full Sherlock mode, “this is an exotic meat smoker. We’ve heard stories about those at Dog-gone Good BBQ”. A whiff quashed the assumption. No succulent aroma of forbidden roasts graced my snout. Foolishly ignoring the absence of meat, I proceeded to tug at it.

After some time and a small comedy of errors, I, Holly, managed to convey the mystery of the ‘meat-smoker’ to my fellow comrades at Pup-Peroni. The whole town of Pawsburg bustled with frenzied curiosity, and our routine rendezvous turned strangely festive.

All dogs were riveted by the spectacle as Uncle Geoff, utilizing his whippet speed, relayed detailed accounts from South Poodle Pond to Labradoodle Lake. While Uncle Ron held a rapt audience under the moonlight, Aunt Sue was busy whipping up ’cause for celebration’ deals at Whiskers and Wings, and the town, or rather ‘Pawsburg’, had never been this animated.

Needless to say, this little farce concluded with the contraption merely being a lost urban utility device that somehow found its way into our quiet town. Not a meat smoker. Not an alien device.

Comedy or not, it did bring us, the inhabitants of Pawsburg, together in strange fashion. And it certainly qualified as a ‘right, raving riot’ of a day in the life of us dogs. But amid all the laughs and wagging tails, there was no mistake about it – Holly, the humble bulldog, was now Pawsburg’s unintentional hero.

The End.