“Hey Ma, Pa! Doggie kingdom’s hopping tonight – Ruff-n-Ready’s a riot! Got my weekly primping at the Dapper Dog (Baths, ugh!). Played with my orange ball – you know, the usual. Almost fell for a ham bribe, crafty kitties! Won the Husky Hardware Run again (got to keep the others on their paws!). Winter’s a bit frosty, but won’t stop Normiekins from ruling Pawsburg! Send biscuits. XD”

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With a sigh of contentment, it brought me back to reality, a reminder that I was in Pawsburg – The canine kingdom cloaked in moonlit skies, while our companions slumbered off the worries of their two-legged lives. Our doggy paradise was aglow with the enticing scent of the Chow Hound Café and the sound of merriment radiating from Ruff-n-Ready.

Oh, to have seen it when Norman arrived! Resplendent in his canine majesty, the glint in his eyes glowed brighter than the neon lights of Best in Show Photography. Norman, ruler of Pawsburg by nightfall, charmer of hearts by sunlight.

We were headed to The Dapper Dog Salon for our weekly custom of being primped and groomed, an arduous process made bearable by the company of each other.

“A bath, now there’s a woeful thing,” I said, nudging Norman playfully. His expressive eyes twinkled with mirth, his tail whipping up a small tornado of dust.

“Quite so,” he intoned, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Ruling Pawsburg was business as usual, but a bath was a grievous misfortune.

Norman was an appealing mix of profound wisdom and fierce independence. Yet, beneath the stalwart posture, he held a soft spot for his orange ball – bouncing it victoriously over Black Bulldog Bay, proudly along the promenades of Golden Gate Gardens, maybe even daring to aim it towards the Lower Dalmatian Desert.

On the occasion of discovering a lonely slab of ham by the Cat’s Meow Sushi, surely an intended bribe, Norman approached the fatty delight with savvy caution. “Ah, the politics of Pawsburg, mightier than the prospect of solitude,” he quipped, nimbly batting it aside with a practiced paw.

Noone quite sparks envy in a canine heart like dear Norman when he wins the Howling Husky Hardware Store’s annual race, showing no more kindness to the slow-footed dogs than to a celery stick on a dinner plate.

Even so, in the dead of winter, as the snow painted this doggy paradise a chilly white, the grandeur of Norman was hard-pressed to melt the snow-clad rooftops. “Snow, a cruel irony,” he would muse, staring into the cold, white expanse, the otherwise fiercely independent dog showing a reluctance to step into the chilly unknown.

Yet, come snow or solitude, cuisine scandals, or vegetable offerings, Norman still wore the crown, with the grace of the privileged and the perseverance of the true canine spirit. The rest of his pack, myself included, reveled in his tales of valor and his dogged pursuit of adventure. For as long as the moon lit up Pawsburg and the sun painted colors in our respective yards, Norman was, undeniably, the crown jewel, radiant against the twinkling nightscape.

The End.

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