Hey Ella, wagging tails and narrow escapes tonight! I led the greatest biscuit heist in Pawsburgh history only to find our prize was a decoy. But we outfoxed the Scentinels, had a moonlit swim, and lived to bark another day. Revenge is a dish best served… as a biscuit? Stay tuned. 😉 – Lupin Lucy 🐾

Ah, Pawsburgh. The clandestine haven that cast a spell over every canine soul within its enchanted borders. I remember tiptoeing out of my suburban sanctuary on a night cloaked in moonlight, telling Ella I’d be just out for an evening sniff-around. I sauntered with my prance which could turn any hound’s head twice, but tonight wasn’t about turning heads—it was about The Great Biscuit Heist.

The Weimaraner Woods murmured with the restless leaves as I made my way to Ruby Rottweiler Ridge, the winds carrying whispers of the crime stirring within the shadows. The plan had been simple: infiltrate Spaniel Spaghetti—classiest joint in Pawsburgh—and liberate the sacred Golden Biscuit, rumored to make any tail wag thrice as fast, stashed in their legendary larder.

“Lucy! Ready to chew this over one last time?” Max greeted me as I reached the rendezvous point. His usual stroll-relishing demeanor was replaced with the jittery anticipation of our heist.

“You know me, Max. Ready as a pup on adoption day,” I replied with a sparkle of mischief in my eye.

I pawed over the blueprint of Spaniel Spaghetti, mentally unpicking the latches and sniffing out every potential trap. Among the scribbles of plans, Max’s tail thumped steadily.

“In we trot, past the Puppy Plate bakery—resist the aroma, please—then dart behind the counter at Paw-tisserie. I’ve heard the chef’s a heavy snorer, so that’s our window,” I whispered, savouring the savory plans over the unsavory veggies I’d forever snubbed.

Tinker, on the other paw, couldn’t stay still, his tail spinning like he was on to his own encore performance.

“Don’t worry, Tink. We’ll be in and out quicker than you can chase your tail,” I assured.

We traipsed, a trio of mischief, through the streets toward Spaniel Spaghetti. The Feline of The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium tipped her hat to our bravado as we passed. She knew the game, but her purrs were promises of silence.

The Tail Wagger’s Tailor still glittered with lights and sequins from its latest fashion howl, but we were about the simple life—a life where a biscuit constituted luxury. We reached our target, its windows gleaming like the guardians of our prize.

Then, that thing about best-laid plans going awry. As we neared the larder, the Golden Biscuit shimmered but…so did something else. The biscuit was a fake—a decoy! Alarms set by the squeak of a chew toy unfurled through the establishment.

Rhubarb! My honor was at stake.

With cops on our tails, we found refuge in Weimaraner Woods. Behind us, the lights of the Scentinels, Pawsburgh’s elite pup police force, sliced through the fog, their howls demanding surrender.

“We’ve been had!” Max’s growl was almost a whine.

“Tink, the door!” I barked as we scrambled. The wiry terrier spun into action, bodying us an exit. We tumbled out and into the basenji bay — our escape was but a swim away.

“Lucy, we can’t swim!” Max’s alarmed bark mingled with the splashing waves.

“Trust me! It’s a short paddle. Besides, it’s not like we’re in hot water. Technically, it’s quite brisk,” I chuckled, my wit as dry as I hoped to be once on dry land.

Sploshing to freedom, Spaniel Spaghetti just a flickering light behind us, the taste of victory was nearly as good as grilled chicken on a Sunday BBQ. Nearly. Our mission had been dogged by twists and turns, but as any pup in Pawsburgh would tell you, every tail has two sides.

And as for the real Golden Biscuit? Let’s just say some secrets are best kept buried in your backyard.

The End.