Hey Mom,

Just another night at Pawsburg! Turns out, I was framed for a ‘food theft’, can you believe it? Spent a night in the shelter – not my style at all! Good news is, ladies don’t wait for heroes and with a little stealth and a lot of grace, I sprang myself out of there. Freedom has never been so furbulously stylish!

Stay Chic,
Your Coco Chanel

Listen to the story here

I remember the night of that fateful adventure, forever etched into the fronds of memory. The moon was high, stars flickering as if with mischief, embarking on a narrative that could only be a riveting thriller. Ol’ Coco was nestled snuggly beside the fire, her petite frame framed with a glistening top-knot that shone brighter still. Our human companions had long since retired for the night, and it was almost time to sneak off to Pawsburg.

“Time to leave, Coco,” Rocky nudged, his bark dipped in a soft undertone. A snack of popped cheese popcorn, Coco’s favorite, lay forgotten next to her – an unusual sight. But, Pawsburg awaited.

You see, we had a routine. Tuesday nights, it was pure doggy delight, Coco loved it, the rendezvous at Waggle n’ Wok. Subsequently, we proceeded to the Canine Couture Clothing; Coco’s stunning attires were no accident, after all. We then retired at Cream Maltese Meadow. A Tuesday plan, as unvarying as time.

That Tuesday was different. Red and blue lights flashed at Doggy Delight; an accusation had been made. Coco, fierce in glistening pink attire, was labeled a ‘food thief!’ An accusation so cruel and hilariously misguided; Coco wouldn’t even lick her paws if they got caught in the crossfire of a messy dish, let alone pilfer food. Coco was taken away, her eyes filled with disbelief, towards the Pawsburg animal shelter.

Rocky, ever the protector, paced by the cream-colored meadows. “She’ll be alright, right?” he questioned, his fur tingling with unease. I assured him we’d get her out, but I harbored my own doubts. Freedom was as much of a right as the wagging of a tail, so together, we plotted her escape.

The following day, we embarked on our mission with bated breaths and racing hearts. Rocky played the diversion, starting a howling contest that drew the guards’ attention. Meanwhile, I sneaked into the shelter. Coco, unfazed by her predicament, continued to exhibit effortless grace. Upon spotting me, a flicker of understanding lit her eyes, and she then chewed the lock till it popped open like her beloved popped cheese snack.

We escaped without a trace, leaving behind a baffled shelter and a half-chewed lock. Once out, Coco darted into the open fields, a joyous yelp echoing into the night sky. Her safe haven, the quaint farm at the outskirts of Pawsburg, embraced her. When we finally retired to the Lower Golden Gate Gardens, Pawsburg breathed a sigh of relief, our hearts a patina of lingering fear and unparalleled joy.

“See Coco,” I chuckled, “Cracking cases are just like gnawing bones. All you need is a little determination and a whole lot of patience.” Her responding wag – light and graceful yet exuding a spunky spirit, was Pawsburg’s binding testimony for Coco, the Classy Peekapoo who could not be held captive, not in a place where free tails were meant to wag with abandon. That remains our vivid memory, immortalized in the chapters of Pawsburg, a tale of a doggy break so gripping, it could’ve been written by Grisham himself.

The End.