Hey Family,

Hope you’re not chasing your tails over there. Just quick pupdate – ventured to Boxer Beach, tasted my first peanut butter donut (mind-blown), and learned a bit from cheeky Bruno about growth. Oh, and remained a steadfast enemy of baths! Stay tuned for more adventures from Pawsburg.

Catch you on the flip side,
‘Biscuit Butkus’ 🐾

Listen to the story here

I remember the first time I ventured to Boxer Beach. It was an enticing world beyond Pawsburg’s fences, reveling in its sandy secrets. Brightly colored beach balls rolled across the surface in playful harmony with the rhythm of dog shaped silhouettes dancing across the horizon. A scent wafted through the air, it was salty, familiar yet something else – a smell that hinted the promise of candy floss trees and doggy biscuit undergrowth.

I was there with old Bruno, that remarkably garrulous sausage dog, and Whiskers, the feline, who’s tactlessness was as commendable as his presence was surprising. Still, companionship is companionship, and who am I to question the company I keep?

This was back in the days when a rope was just a rope, not yet promoted to the pinnacle of my hallowed asset hierarchy, unchewed and lacking the well-seasoned scent of my overzealous drool. Food was as arbitrary as the next object – that was until I stumbled upon the peanut-butter coated doggy donuts at Doggy Donuts.

“Try it, Butkus,” urged Bruno, his tiny eyes sparkling with excitement and strands of peanut butter hanging from his snout. Whiskers, sitting atop the Doggy Donuts sign, merely smirked, “What, scared?”

Well, if a dog ever felt peer pressure, that was it. Tentatively, I lapped at the peanut butter coated donut. The velvety, creamy taste of the peanut butter was a revelation! It transformed my world, much like the first time I saw a cat on a leash. But more delicious and less baffling.

Why, oh, why didn’t anyone ever tell me about peanut butter and its divine taste? A taste that still lingers and causes inexplicable salivation even as I recollect the memory today. I left Doggy Donuts that day with an enhanced taste palette and a new-found craze for peanut butter.

Later, as was the tradition after all unsere (that’s German for our, Bruno insisted it was classier) adventures, we visited Kibble Cuisine for some well-deserved dinner. The culinary delights they whipped up could make any tail wag, but that evening, it was the conversation that was memorable.

“Today, you tasted growth, Butkus,” Bruno winked as he gnawed on his steak, “Growth is not only about becoming ‘big and scary’, but also about new experiences and becoming who you truly are.” I remember scoffing, telling him he was merely a wiener-dog doling out philosophical boons. Yet, I soaked it all in. Pawsburg was more than just a town, it was a teacher and we, its willing pupils, learning from each experience, savoring every flavor of life.

Oh, and Baths? That’s a vignette for another time. Even growth has its limits!

The End.

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