“Hey there, it’s your girl Roxy. You know the Bulldog Bruce saga, right? Well, your gal was the unlikely heroine tonight. Saved Shih Tzu Stadium from his antics, all in a doggy day’s work in Pawsburg. Tucker sends his licks too. Roxy out, time for some well-earned zzz’s!”

Listen to the story here

“Pawsburg, I’ve often reflected, is more a state of mind than a place. An adventure haven that’s there when you need it the most. A haven for dogs like me, Roxy, your average English bulldog with a not-so-average story.

It was a night studded with stars, the moon in full bloom, casting ample light on Bullmastiff Boardwalk, the normal meeting point for Tucker and me. Tucker, you ask? The sly fox terrier who stuck around, despite my stubborn disposition. Yeah, that one.

“Roxy, something’s going on at Shih Tzu Stadium,” he barked in alarm as I arrived at our meeting spot. There was always something amiss in Pawsburg. Nothing too drastic, just enough to keep life interesting.

With quick nips and slobbery licks, we devised our strategy outside Ruff-n-Ready. Not exactly the place I would choose for meals – steak bones and I have a rapport that goes way back – but Tucker was more inclined towards their special Doggie Delight bowl, apparently.

Let me tell you, there’s little quite as bewildering as Shih Tzu Stadium aglow in surprise floodlights. The sight would stump anyone, even this stubborn bulldog. Tucker and I approached with caution, my squishy face scrunching in confusion.

“Just like a blasted carrot,” I growled under my breath, an analogy Tucker found amusing, as indicated by the wagging of his tail. To me, this was worse than bath time; the uncertainty too similar to the sensation of water seeping into my fur.

Then we saw him, a newcomer, Bulldog Bruce. Big, burly, and with a booming bark that would give a chihuahua chills. He had hijacked the stadium for his own amusement, chasing meek poodles and shih tzus around, their panicked squeals ripping through the silence of the night.

“Roxy, we’ve got to do something,” Tucker implored, those small brown eyes pleading. I knew he was right. This was our sanctuary, and nobody had the right to disrupt it.

Mustering all the courage my stout build could handle, I stepped forward, my usually inaudible growl echoing through the grandstand. Bruce looked at me, perhaps stunned. He hadn’t expected opposition, and certainly not from a dog known for her stubbornness rather than heroics.

In Pawsburg, however, we stand up for our friends. A dog slam later, Bruce found himself bounding out of the stadium. Tucker let out a cheer, meeting me at our spot near The Wagging Tail Bookstore, triumphant.

“Roxy, you hero!” he exclaimed, as we engaged in a victory nuzzle. I barked in agreement, rather pleased I could prove my mettle beyond scaring off the bath hose.

Pawsburg was back to being its peaceful, dog’s paradise again, an English bulldog the unlikely heroine. But that’s what I love about this place; every dog gets his day in Pawsburg.”

The End.