“Dad, went off sniffing for grub, mistook a fairy lit bush for a gourmet steak, caused quite the commotion. On the upside, got a new shrub-toy! See you at sunrise for our snuggles. P.S. Don’t even think about peanut butter lettuce. Babyloo”

Listen to the story here

“Oi, Holly!” I yelled, drawing the attention of the stout little bulldog, who had somehow broken into a sprint. “That’s not Yappy Yogurt!” We were in Pawsburg, the sanctuary of snooze-time shenanigans, where dogs like Holly – and her gang comprising Uncle Ron, Aunt Sue, and Uncle Geoff – indulged in their greatest desires, only to return home before dawn.

Holly had diverged from our path towards Shepherd Skyline, a favorite extortion spot for food and play. The plan was to visit the East Pug Palace, but having caught a whiff of some enticing aroma, off she dashed towards Paws On The Grill, her chunky, white-and-brown spotted body bouncing hilariously as she flew past the Cream Maltese Meadow.

I huffed, puffed, and rounded the corner, only to halt in absolute bewilderment. “Holly, you utter daft pooch! That’s not a gourmet steak, it’s a shrub!” That particular ‘steak’ was decorated with a thousand fairy lights in the middle of Pawsburg’s Summer Grill Festival.

“Blimey, Holly! Are you so food besotted that you’d not discriminate between a steak and a flaming bush?” I admonished the bulldog, fighting to keep the laughter at bay.

Her friends, who were still heading towards the Skyline, turned back at the commotion. “Cheers! Our Holly’s got poets writing sonnets on her culinary adventures again,” chuckled Uncle Ron, his terrier tail swishing wildly, while Aunt Sue, the ever graceful Lab, merely rolled her eyes.

As chaos erupted around her, Holly just tilted her head, looking at me with those big, innocent, slightly-accusing eyes. “I smell peanut butter…you smell peanut butter, don’t you? I could swear this is the Pooch Playhouse’s peanut butter-scented decor.”

Aunt Sue sighed, shaking her head, “Backyard bravery accompanied by culinary confusion – what a memorable combo, Holly.”

As the sun began to rise, we made our way home; Holly carrying her bush-steak, looking as triumphant as ever. Returning from these nightly escapades, Holly always looked forward to snuggling with her human dad. Despite her streak of stubborn rebellion and the calamities it often caused at Pawsburg, there was no place like home for her.

“Bloody love you, Holly,” I muttered, thoroughly exhausted but absolutely amused. “You and your bloody love for food. You know, you might even eat lettuce if it had a hint of peanut butter!”

Unsurprisingly, Holly turned and gave me a mournful stare that seemed to say, “Don’t ever jest about such horrors again!”

After all, if you can’t handle a bulldog at her mistaken-bush-for-a-steak, you certainly don’t deserve her at her Pup-Tastic Pizza best. For such is the grand Comedy of Errors that is Holly’s life in Pawsburg, a comedy I happily partake in, night after hilarious night.

The End.