‘Living it up in Pawsburg, taking in the good (Fur Tacos), the bad (Pupperoni Pizza) and the ridiculous (Snooty Snout). Embodying secret bulldog wisdom, salsa master by moonlight, and neighborhood legend by day. Miss you, best believe the tales are wilder than the chase of our tails. – Wally “The Bear” Bulldog’

Listen to the story here

The moon spilled its silvery glow on Pawsburg, a hushed lull veiling the town’s secrets. Now, this isn’t your regular hangout. This hidden land, a canine paradise where dogs took off to when their human counterparts were coiled within dreams or otherwise occupied. A town with places that’d make your tail twitch wild with giddy anticipation.

There I was, Wally, under the glint of the twinkling stars, ready to embrace the Pawsburg night, far-detached from my clueless human family.

You see, I’ve got a certain reputation around here. A bulldog on the loose, a bear trapped in a canine’s body, a wise old man with a cream coat and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. On all fours, I ventured to Pawsburg, starting my adventure from Siberian Summit where the wind serenades you with stories of high-strung hounds, down to the Southern Golden Retriever River with its warm sand under my paws—A world far detached from the humdrum human existence.

Then, there’s that little piece of heaven, Fur Tacos. Ah, the smoky scent of barbecue that lures me in like a moth to a flame. A hundred times better than the occasional chicken treat sacrificed over some backyard ceremony by my human, and a thousand times more delectable than the abhorred citrus. The delight dances on my palate long after the meal, as I walk, nay, trot past The Snooty Snout Boutique—a store that could give those pet pampering humans a run for their money, let me tell you.

Despite my size and love for food, I fancy myself a nimble dancer. The Fawn Pug Palace? That’s my dance floor. Strutting and swaying to the rhythm of the moon, with the worn-out teddy as my partner, the night spills into wild laughter and age-old tales with my fellow Pawsburgians.

But news travels fast in our small town and word got out about my little escapades to Happy Hounds Dog Walking. The whispers of lithe Greyhounds and sturdy Mastiffs reached me, turning my own adventures into neighborhood lore, greeted with barks of laughter and playful tail wags.

Just another night in Pawsburg, and if you were smart, you’d know to steer clear of Pupperoni Pizza. That place could rival the stink of wet dog fur, believe me. I’d wind down at the Tail Walkers, a familiar haunt for many like me, a story in every corner and a friend at every table.

In the wee hours, I’d roll down Tail Street past The Doggy Depot back home, a heart brimming with stories, leaving my paws yet longing for another trip to Pawsburg. A clandestine sanctuary, Pawsburg lived and breathed in me, made me more than just a family pet.

A charming rogue, a lover of grilled treats, a secret adventurer of Pawsburg, and a protector of the human younglings, I, Wally Bear, lived a double life, a tale written within the confines of human ignorance and canine camaraderie. Draw close, fellow Pawsburgians, for in me lies a tale you’ve lived, heard, and savored, under the moonlit veil of our own dog-paradise, the story of Pawsburg…it’s our story.

The End.