“Chased tail with Spot and Hunter in Pawsburg, our doggy Hogwarts. Had deep thoughts and found my inner diva in Fawn Cream Maltese Meadow. Went food-crazy at Bone Appetit and Pup-Cakes. Survived the Brussels Sprout terror, back home before Miss Lindy returned. Pawsburg, we’ll meet again. Woof-woof, Caper.”

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The moment Miss Lindy shut the door on her way out, it was showtime for me, my tail vibrating with anticipation. The city was asleep, but not Pawsburg. It beckoned me, a mystical land of pure doggy ecstasy, an alternate reality of endless escapades and bone-burying tales. My friends and I would sneak off there, leaving behind the mundane leash-encased lives.

Succumbing to your dog instincts, the pull of Pawsburg’s magic, is like eating the first bite of a juicy chicken drumstick – your inhibitions melt. Dappled black-and-white fur, golden-brown eyes, city brat, suburban doggie, it didn’t matter; in Pawsburg, we all were just soulful creatures, tails a-wagging.

At South Siberian Summit, Spot liked to sit on top, looking all Yoda-ish in his Dalmatian spots. It was our Hogwarts, standing tall, frosted tundra gleaming against the twilight, more mystifying than the Empire State, sans King Kong, of course.

Siberian Summit, often confused with South Siberian, was Hunter’s territory; the cool blue ice contrasting with his fiery spirit. Imagine a German shepherd serving as a lifeguard. Sounds nutty? Welcome to Pawsburg.

Then, there was Fawn Cream Maltese Meadow, my go-to place for self-reflection. The rays of the sun would play on my dappled coat and create these tiny glimmers like a spotlight. In those moments, conquering the world with my sheer cuteness felt plausible, if a smidge egotistic.

Being food-obsessed, Bone Appetit felt like an oasis in the middle of the desert after a day’s adventure. Their specialty? Bone Marrow Burgers– my kryptonite. Then there was Pup-Cakes, a wordplay I’d kill for, where Bruno, the Boston terrier, would scoff down cupcakes. If he’d a theme song, it’d be Bruno Mars’s ‘Uptown Funk,’ and he’d claim it was named after him.

Pawsome Pancakes was another of our haunts. Maple syrup, whipped cream or blueberries. An IHOP for dogs, you could say. Or should it be an IPUP? Monday night comedy, anyone.

We had our own canine version of CVS in Pawsome Pet Pharmacy. From flea preventative to doggy vitamins, they stocked everything for our health needs. The Pawfect Training Center, run by Shea, a poodle, mostly prepared dogs for the Pawlympics, and to enter The Pampered Pooch Salon, picture the Met Gala red carpet, but with dogs.

My rubber duckie followed me everywhere silently bearing witness to my Pawsburg memoirs. Funny how a simple toy could bring such joy.

However, the vegetal nightmare known as Brussels sprouts made an unwanted appearance at Pawsburg’s Green Leaf restaurant. Ugh! What kind of sadistic canine invented that?

Back in New York, as Miss Lindy returned, we snuck back, leaving the magic of Pawsburg behind. Despite the tiny sprout tragedy, it had been an unforgettable whimsy-filled night. Until again, Pawsburg.

Alright, Journal? Why are you even a journal? You need to be a screenplay! Spielberg? Are you listening? The adventures of Caper in Pawsburg – guaranteed Oscar bait!

The End.