“Hey Ma, Pawsburg’s a hoot! Commanded the pet office, won tug-of-war, styled at the salon, and made ’em guess stinks. Kept wagging tail and human at heart, and remembered – every Walter has his day. Bark tomorrow! -Walter Matthau 🐾”

Listen to the story here

In the heart of Pawsburg, nestled between Eastern White Westie Woods and Brown Boxer Beach, there sat the Pet Office. Now imagine the hustle and bustle, the constant yapping of coterie of dogs all trading stories of adventure and clashing toys in a spirit of camaraderie.

As dawn kicked out the last lingering vestiges of night, our protagonist, that dignified beagle, Walter, swathed in hues of brown, decided to take the day head-on. Or at least consider it, after his morning nap, by the Yappy Yogurt store.

“All right, listen up!” I declared, paws up on the office counter, rope toy dangling from my mouth, “This is not your regular nine to five gig, okay? This ain’t about ‘sit’, ‘fetch’, or ‘heel’. This here is Pawsburg, where we relish our freedom and nonconformity!”

Down at K9 Kebabs, while munching on a tomato-topped delicacy, my silent pondering was interrupted by Max, the perpetually enthusiastic golden retriever from accounting.

“Hey, Walter!” He barked, toppling his water dish in the typical Max fashion, “Heard you nailed the tug-of-war presentation today!”

“Ah, Max, the tug of the dog world! What’s the dog-gone point, eh?” I replied, wagging my tail in response to his ever-enthused state.

Trotting through the beauty of the Barking Boutique, trailed by a curtain of mystique, the comical Bulldog Bay cronies tried, and failed, to fathom my impeccable style. “Walter, ol’ boy, how in dog’s name do you pull it off?” How indeed, dear friends. How indeed.

At the Dapper Dog Salon, I caught a view of myself in the mirror. The dashing abyss beckoned, “Walter, you handsome devil, how do you maintain such charm?” Paws on counter, eyes on the prize, I replied, “It’s all in the fur, dear me. All in the fur.”

Back in the Pet Office, after a riveting game of ‘guess the stink’, I concluded the day declaring, “We may be dogs but we don’t need to act like animals. Remember mates, a wagging tail is a happy heart. So love more, bark less!”

Sure, Walter’s reflections might perchance be a mystery to us. But here in Pawsburg, its pulsating heart and charismatic tale, I have endeavored to make each one of those paws count, even as I return each evening to my human across the giant doggy door.

“Tomorrow, we start again,” I mused, “because every dog, every Walter, has his day.” And as the sun framed my silhouette, it was clear that in Pawsburg, the day was always Walter’s.

The End.