“Hey there! Just had anoth’r day of adventure in Pawsburg with the gang – rotisserie chicken with no celery, games at Fawn Pug Palace, and some shopping at Snooty Snout. Bruno was grumpy as usual, but even he can’t ruin a good day! Life’s a waggin’ good time lickin’ at the bones of Pawsburg, it is. Toodle-oodles, Yoda.”

Listen to the story here

I woke up to the sound of seagulls squawking overhead. With a stretch and a yawn, I lifted my head from my favorite rubber frog, carefully placed under my chin. “Another day in Pawsburg,” I said to the little squeaky guy before I stood up, my oyster-white and burnished-gold coat shimmering in the morning sun.

“You ready for some mischief, Froggie?” I asked, my hazel eyes twinkling with new plans. I tread carefully to the edge of the harbor, the morning dew kissing my feet. Overhead, the gulls screamed, and in the distance, Pawsburg woke to another day of canine adventures.

I looked down at Pawsburg from my sanctuary, and it was as lit as Daisy, my Dalmatian friend, on a milk-bone spree. Pawsburg’s buildings jutted out like multi-colored fishing buoys, some painted in hues so wild you’d think the resident dogs would drop off to dreamland as soon as they shut their eyes.

You see, Pawsburg wasn’t just any city. Pawsburg was our city. A city for dogs to run amuck when our humans weren’t watching. And boy, did we paint the town red, or, well, Fido’s favorite, ‘Sassy Scarlet’.

The day began with breakfast at Sniff ‘n’ Snack. They had the tastiest treats in town. I could smell their fresh rotisserie chicken from a mile away, enough to send any tail, including mine, into a wagging twist. And like clockwork, Max came panting, “Yoda! saved you a drumstick, your favorite!” Max was my best pal, a Beagle whose middle name was entertainment.

“And nothing with celery right?” I always asked, the thought of celery enough to send chills along my fluffy spine. “No celery, promise!” Max would reply, his eyes glinting with merriment, aware of my strange distaste for the otherwise harmless vegetable.

In between our games of fetch at Western Fawn Pug Palace and shopping at The Snooty Snout Boutique, we spent our day living out the Pawsburg dream. Yet even in this utopia, we faced trials. Trials named Bruno, the Bulldog with as much cat-attitude for a dog. His mere existence was a buzzkill to our otherwise perfect days.

Yet I suppose that’s the essence of Pawsburg – a mystical town that permitted us real-world sensations interlaced with magical elements, including grouchy Bulldogs. As Froggie and I settled down for the day at our little place by the harbor, I couldn’t help but marvel at our secret world. As always I told Froggie, “It’s not a bad gig, being a dog in Pawsburg, huh?”

Pawsburg was our paradise on Earth, a place any dog would wag its tail to, a mixtape of the ordinary and the extraordinary. And boy, did we love our song.

The End.

Share This Story: