Desi PawWord Story

Hey there,

It’s Desi. Just another eve here in Pawsburg. Benny, Mabel, and I resembling a canine version of the A-Team, warding off an alien vacuum onslaught from Pet Partners Pet Supplies. Did it involve a daring lasagna decoy? Maybe. 😉 Just 3 outlaws, saving our humble abode from being all tumbleweeds and vacuums.

Got more wild tales to spin. Catch you at Furrific Fried Chicken.

– Desi the Dashing

Listen to the story here

Howdy, pard’ner, familiar enough to address ya by first name, ain’t I? You and I? We’re old buckaroos. And this narrative, a cerebrum-topple of a tale to make Douglas Adams himself howl at the old rodeo, ain’t no bedtime yarn, no siree.

Right before sundown, when owners are off dozing in some parallel universe, us dogs sneak off to Pawsburg for our shenanigans and camaraderie – an unsung chapter of Old West folklore. Now, in our whimsical township, sprightly venues like Brindle Brown Boxer Beach, the sullen depths of Westie Woods, and the romantic old-world charm of Choco Chihuahua Castle give the phrase “Barking up the wrong tree” a whole new context.

The night-stalking shadows of Pawsburg are unusually alluring. The Bark ‘n’ Roll club, with the tunes turning around faster than a flea-bitten mutt can wag his tail, or the culinary havens of Furrific Fried Chicken and Dog-gone Good BBQ, where the aroma of roasted meats disperses rather on the atmospheric side of succulent. I struggle not to paint the drool-wet tableau right there and then. Conversely, sour hints of citrus pass my sniffer – uncomfortably so. We have our domestic rows over at Pawsitively Purrfect Pet Store, but the Fetching Feline Pet Emporium tends to often lend a peaceful chinwag.

This peculiar story, dear reader, is of a usual night at Pawsburg, when I – the mischievous Maltipoo, Desi, saddled by my companions, Benny Squirrel and Mabel the Tabby, sought to thwart an alien invasion of vacuums – the dreadlocked stallions of terror, at Pet Partners Pet Supplies, under the inconspicuous cover of moonlit shadows.

“You’ve got that cross-twixed, panicked look, Mabel. This ain’t no cheery Banjo strumming, is it?” I asked, taking note of the oncoming calamity.

“Nay, Desi, it’s the Vacuums! They’re forming a posse!”

“Those confounded contraptions? You gotta be yanking my tail!” Benny chirped with his signature nervous twitch.

And so, under the mountain-high pressure, we hatched a plan haphazard and bumbling, but not without the quick-witted sass and charm of your weather-worn Commadante Desi!

Drunk on believe-it-or-nots and seconds from buckle under, we managed to save Pawsburg from its tumbleweed fate by employing a cunning detour filled with – yep, you guessed it- a Lasagna bait, weaving a yarn so absurd that even the purple rock would think twice.

So, here’s my gab for ya – the uncanny tale of how three unlikely outlaws cheeked the sniggering jaws of leathery fears, saved Pawsburg, and dashed toward the break of down, yowling with victorious delight.

Sit tight, buckaroo… The night is still young and there’s plenty more tales to tell in the wee hours at the Furrific Fried Chicken joint.

The End.