Hey there, it’s Whiskers! Saved Pawsburg again last night, took down a rowdy bulldog pack at the Doggy Bagel Deli. Although they had the brawn, us Pawsburgers had the brains. Multiply peace by the number of my tails, and you’ve got our end result! #GoldenRetrieverGumption. Over and out, your friendly neighborhood lion-dog.

Listen to the story here

In the clandestine hours when human eyes are veiled by slumber, our town of Pawsburg lives her enigmatic life – a thrilling, tail-wagging existence reserved completely for the four-legged habitants like me; Whiskers, the Golden Retriever who looks like a regal lion, if you squint just right under moonlight.

My adventure always starts when the gibbous moon peeks in through Miss Marjorie’s kitchen window, illuminating our usual meeting spot. Muffin, the grumpy-but-lovable pug, and Dash, the Dalmatian who can’t quite figure out inertia, join me in hot pursuit of another night escapade under Pawsburg’s twinkling sky.

The story ignited at Greyhound Grove. You see, the grove was our headquarters, a place where we’d gather, not in the aristocratic sense, but more like a motorcycle-clad pack of bikers sharing tales and camaraderie. This particular night, it was our role as the four-legged guardians of Pawsburg that beamed in the spotlight. A threat was hanging over our peaceful town like a dark thundercloud. And every thundercloud, as evident in my vast weather knowledge primarily acquired from sticking my face out of car windows, can burst into a relentless storm.

A new pack of bulldogs, buffed up from too many meals at Bark and Bites, the gluttons, were causing ruckus across our territory. Between the scandal at Golden Gate Gardens, where the roses were ruthlessly decapitated, and the rumours of their unjustified shopping spree at the Wagging Tail Bookstore, it was clear; these brutes were disregarding the unspoken laws of Pawsburg.

We held a secret meeting, nestled under the canopy of rustling leaves at Husky Hill, our faces illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. Dash, bless his heart, suggested we out-run them. A plan as effective as feeding me broccoli and assuming I’d stay still. No dear Dash, this called for something more tactical.

Our resolution… a challenge. At The Doggy Bagel Deli, we would mark our stand. I was chosen to represent us, golden-fur bristling, tail wagging in anticipation. After all, aside from my reputation of being a regular customer, ah those scrumptious steak bagels, I was also recognized as Pawsburg’s unofficial peacekeeper.

The morning came, a different battlefield. The smells of toasty bagels and brewing coffee filled the air, unfortunately devoid of any biscuits from Miss Marjorie. As I stepped forward, the rusty old bell above the door announced my arrival. The bulldogs were huddled together, muscles rippling, jowls hanging, but I stood my ground. Staring them down, one bulldog to the other, I whisked my tail back and forth with veiled threats.

“Alright,” my gravelly bark echoed, a Woody-Allen-esque retort, adored by all my Pawsburger pals. “You think you can just walk into town, make a mess of things and not face the consequences? Would you like it if we came into your neighborhood and chewed on… whatever it is you big lumbering things chew on?” Silence. Then a roar of laughter filled the bakery. Even the bulldog’s smirks were fading.

In the end, the bulldogs agreed to respect our town, our parks, our quaint little Pawsburg. Back in Greyhound Grove, I rested, the sun drenching my fur, the wind humming its lullaby. High on victory, awash in peanut butter infused dreams, I knew my tale would echo through the pages of our town’s history, forever etching the mark of the Golden Retriever who saved Pawsburg.+

The End.