“Hey you! Crazy day in Pawsburg – formed a dog band for town’s talent show. Tiger on drums, Alfie on harmonica, yours truly on vocals. Our performance was a disaster, then a triumph when the crowd found humor in our chaos. Life’s never dull here. Regular’s for humans, chaos’s for us. Will there be more band stuff? Probably not. But can’t wait to see what other madness Pawsburg has in store. Toasting to our madness with a roast beef sandwich. Cheers! -Ol’ Samillva”

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Well, it was just another regular day in Pawsburg before the fur hit the fan. Ol’ Samillva here, reporting from a bulldog’s-eye-view. I woke up bright an’ early when Annie slipped out for her boring human job. But hey, a dog’s gotta do what a dog’s gotta do and for us, it was off to the most happening spot in entire Pawsburg, the Pooch Playhouse School!

“Sam,” said Tiger the Boxer, bouncing excitedly as he usually does, “we’re forming a band for the town’s talent show – ‘The Pawsburg Musical’.”

“A band?” I said, rolling my hazel eyes. “Don’t you guys know I can’t hold a guitar?”

That earned me a couple of groans. We were at Golden Gate Gardens, discussing the “band”. Tiger on drums – the loud guy always prefers the loudest instrument. Alfie, the shih tzu, looked cute with a harmonica. Me? I got lumped with vocals.

Before we knew it, the day sneaked into the evening faster than a cat in a kitchen. We were at Pup-Peroni, the favorite hangout. It’s just nice to sit back, wag your tail, lick a roast-beef sandwich and humor the fellas with their “rock-n-roll” delusions.

Days turned into practice sessions, toys turned into instruments, peaceful afternoons turned into symphonies of whines, howls and barks. We were a hit at the Southern Golden Retriever River – hit dogs, get it?

The night of the Musical arrived. The decorations at White Westie Woods were flashier than a Greyhound’s grin. Before we hit the stage, Tiger looked at me, his eyes a mixture of fear and excitement, “Sam, what if they hate us?”

“Listen, here,” I brazenly wagged my button tail, “we’re not here for fame. We’re here to show them bulldogs can sing!”

The moment arrived, and before I knew it I was on the stage with my pals, the spotlight, catching the brindle in my coat, making it shine like a disco ball, blinded me momentarily. I could see the crowd — dogs of shapes, sizes, and breeds — waiting. Ah! The glamorous life of a bulldog singer!

Just when we were on a roll, disaster struck. My old, frayed, squeaky duck – hidden in my fur to ward off stage fright – began to interrupt the performance. The squeaking was rhythmless, the ducks were flying (literally), and yes, even the listeners started to howl!

The dogs jumped, ran around, some even left the premises. Oh, the mayhem a simple toy could cause!

We stood there, looking at each other, in the eye of the storm. Then, we did the only logical thing – we laughed. We laughed like loons, harmonizing our howls with the rhythm-less squeaky duck.

And then, horror of horrors, the audience joined us! They couldn’t understand the change in track but appreciated the humor. We had them rolling!

Will we ever form a band again? Probably not! But what’s life in Pawsburg without a bit of madness? Regular was for the humans, chaos was for us. And as long as there are roast beef sandwiches, a squeaky duck and my pals Tiger and Alfie, well, I’m ready to sing the blues!

The End.