Hey there, Stetson here – Pawsburg’s debatably handsome and indisputably brave Bulldog bulldozer. Just survived a doggone hurricane of a week – roped into a fur-raising rescue mission thanks to Tuffy’s bone adventures. Battled winds, floods and a suspicious Brussels sprout. Pawsburg’s still sturdier than a squirrel’s hold on his acorn – worth every drool-cloaked second of it. Woofs and wags, your neighborhood hero, Stets.

Listen to the story here

Well, my little Kibble Cuisine hangovers, here’s a tale, braided together with drool and determination, about that wild week when Tuffy played fetch with the wrong bone and we found ourselves navigating the worst crisis Pawsburg has seen since the Great Squirrel Invasion of ’09.

You see, Pawsburg is a utopia for us canines—a Belly Rub Republic, if you will—nestled between Western Labradoodle Lake, Golden Gate Gardens, and Bulldog Bay. That’s right, Bulldog Bay, a beachy paradise named after the best-looking breed in town. Yours faithfully, Stetson the Bulldog.

Anyway, that night at Bark Burgers, while I was enjoying my Sunday favorite—a luscious gravy-smothered roast—Whiskers shot me a look from the opposite table. Now, I’m no frisky kitten, but I could sense a shred of fear under that usual street grit. A wisp of hurricane was forming out on Western Labradoodle Lake. There were whispers of a turnover at Pawsburg – a doggone natural disaster!

Between bites, I immediately formed a crew of brave, albeit slightly terrified, companions, including Tuffy and Whiskers. None of us had any disaster management skills, unless you count Tuffy’s ability to create one, but who else was going to give this catastrophe the old “Fetch, Roll-over, Lie-down” treatment?

In the howling winds and rains, we wrestled our way through slobbering chaos. Golden Gate Gardens turned into a swampy nightmare, and The Groom Room had a line out the door. (No disaster can prevent a dog’s inherent need for good hygiene.) The Pawfect Training Center, where I’d learned so many important skills like sleeping on command, a lesson I took to heart, was flooding.

I shivered remembering how it got so disastrous that I had to share my secret stash of Pup-Peroni with stranded floofs. At one point, tempted by the sweet torture of hunger, I nibbled on a menacing Brussels sprout but instantly spat it out – some standards can’t be devastated, folks!

All fun-poking aside, we were in a real muzzle-loader of a mess. But it wasn’t difficult battles or the looming nightmare of ear drops that united us. It was the shared belief that our Pawsburg was worth protecting. And so, we braved on, wagging our tails for encouragement, navigating the crisis armed with nothing but guts and a blue rubber ball named Digby.

That disaster week in Pawsburg may have been dog-awful, but we lived to chew another bone. As for our squirrel enemies, they had their own mess to attend to—a treasury filled with acorns and waterlogged-tail syndrome. It’s only fair, though. As they say every dog has its day…and sometimes, its hurricane.

The End.

Share This Story: