Hey there,

Just a quick one from your hero, Teddi the Whistle Warrior. Today, amidst the everyday mischief and cakes, I rallied the whole canine gang against a literal soundstorm. Against all odds and flying dog biscuits, I snuck into Morris’ lab and put an end to his cacophonous whistle contraption. Not all heroes wear capes, some have wagging tails!

Paw-five!

Teddi

Listen to the story here

I stretched as the first rays of the sun permeated through the wooden slats of my comfy kennel, the aroma of dawn touching my senses. You see, the great thing about being Teddi, that’s me, is that every day begins like a perfectly written script. The day started pretty dull, routine if you may, a jingle at Pup-Cakes followed by a gentle sparring with Bruno at The Pooch Playhouse, but I had no idea how drastically it was about to change.

“Storm’s coming”, Thomas said, his tongue full of tuna from Bark and Bites. A cat predicting weather. Well, you’ve seen it all. But there was a truth in his green eyes and so the good citizen in me, decided it was time I rally the troops. After all, a looming disaster wasn’t the most charming rendezvous, was it?

Pixie was sunbathing at the Golden Gate Gardens with that quaint cavalier charm, unaware of the “Storm”. I swept through Lower Golden Gate Gardens, gathering my fuzzy friends with a whirlwind tour to spread the news, my friends chattering like a mixed salad of disaster films. Bruno almost tripped over himself at the Dapper Dog Salon. It was hysterical if not for the melodramatics.

I took a bite off a dog biscuit, gripped my squeaky rubber ball, then called for an emergency meeting at Brindle Brown Boxer Beach. We were like a bunch of canine diplomats. Some were shaking their heads, others raising their paws. Chaos wrapped in fur.

That pivotal moment came when McGee, our neighborhood bulldog, standing atop a mound of sand, as Pawsburg’s resident Orson Welles delivered the apocalyptic pronouncement, “Morris’ Bark-Be-Gone whistle is coming.”

See, Morris is this eccentric inventor who designed a whistle to keep us fur-babies quiet. Said it was his magnum opus. But it had enormous adverse effects, from disorientation to good dogs turning feral. It was disaster in a pocket-friendly size. And he plugged it into the town speaker system. Why? Don’t ask me, I’m just a Shih-poo.

Time was running out and the storm, the whistle and the panic played a symphony of chaos. Inspired by every disaster movie cliché, I had a one-minute speech that would’ve even made a politician tear up. Teddi to the rescue, or so I thought. In an act of bravery, or was it foolhardy courage, I volunteered to sneak into Morris’ lab to unplug the whistle.

A somewhat overzealous sidestep here, an unpoetic tumble there, and a chase that would even put Tom and Jerry to shame. I must admit crawling through the mazes of wires and electronic alchemy, wasn’t in the list of my favorite things. Through the jungle of blips and bleeps, I made it, unplugged the whistle mere seconds before the storm hit, and Pawsburg was saved.

I returned to my friends, conquering hero in tow. Turns out, in life, you could either play with the rubber ball or be the rubber ball. For me? Well, I think I proved I could do both. At that moment, however small within the vast Pawsburg, I was larger than life. So, “Who has the duck liver pate now?” I pondered, my tail wagging in contentment. Today, I was more than just Teddi. I was Teddi, the whistle warrior.

The End.

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