“Hey Mom, just another night in Pawsburg. Ran moon-race, traded barbs with Bella, ate BBQ ribs. Played morale-boost at pet pharmacy for brooding Rufus. Quirkily craving tomatoes, became town’s biggest tomato advocate. Usual antics. Life’s good, as it should be. Barked the moon goodnight, nestled into dreams. Life’s not about tail chasing, it’s about living it up, Walter style. -Walter Matthau”

Listen to the story here.

The moonlight was broadcasting its show in the dark theatre of the sky, signaling the rise of Pawsburg. Night shoft, as we called it, the enchanting time when we, the fur-coated citizens, broke the chains of human presence to revel in the freedoms of our beautiful hamlet.

“Well, look who finally raced the moon!” Bella, the Husky from Dog-gone Good BBQ, quipped as I, Walter, sauntered in, my favorite tennis ball bouncing along. She knew, as well as I, that time played the second fiddle when you had the delicious aroma of steak grilling on the BBQ beckoning you.

“Yeah, real funny, Bella,” I retorted, the whiff of my favorite barbecue sauce and the hum of tires on gravel permeating the air. I flung my tennis ball towards the Brindle Brown Boxer Beach, watching as it undertook an impromptu flight before drowning in the surf. “Hope the grill’s as hot as your sarcasm tonight.”

A few hearty laughs erupted around me while Bella dished out her signature smoky ribs. Meals here weren’t just about filling growling stomachs. They were a comforting ritual, a communion of the hungry and the spirited. But running a food joint wasn’t all about mouth-watering ribs and friendly banter.

The Pet Pharmacy’s owner, an Old English Sheepdog named Rufus, lumbered in with a familiar pout. Ordered a Fetch-N-Bites Double Delight, sighed, and then sat brooding over his plate with the gusto of an unsatisfied mountain.

“Cheer up, Rufus, be more dog,” I counseled. As pack leader, it was my job to uphold morale in our canine society. He looked up with lumbering eyes, managed a small tail wag.

Rufus was probably the only one who understood my craving for tomatoes. Most mocked me for this so-called ‘un-doglike’ taste. But let me tell you a secret – owning your quirks metamorphoses them into your strengths. Heck, our society was built on these quirks!

As the night grew darker under the watchful moon and tales of tomfoolery echoed between us, I cherished my colorful life in Pawsburg. Be it chasing my tennis ball on Beagle Beach or proof-checking food supplies at The Woofy Bakery, every task was a nod to my wild spirit, my love for the world I had claimed as my own.

And as I brushed off a pesky cricket from my patchwork quilt, ready to curl into a dream, I thought of my day. It had been brimming with mouth-watering delights, rib-tickling conversations, and laughter echoing deeper than the deepest chords of companionship. And then I realized, maybe, as a dog in a world of humans, finding happiness wasn’t about chasing my tail. It was about being Walter, being dog.

The End.