Hey Mom,

Turns out, I’m not just your regular ball of cuteness. I’ve been moonlighting as the Queen of Pawsburg! A dog’s Olympic where my agile moves triumphed me the winner. Wait until you hear of my secret realm over canned chicken. All in a day’s (or should I say night’s) work!

Much love,
Wigglebutt

Listen to the story here

It was an evening as benign as any other. The monotonous tick-tock of the grandfather clock, seasoned with a sprinkle of jazz humming from the radio, filled the corners of Sammie’s abode. I happened to be watching Sammie at that moment, her drowsy eyes heavy with years of wisdom, her paws stretched leisurely to embrace slumber.

“All set for Pawsburg?” I broached the clandestine topic, my voice reverberating in the quiet of the room. Sammie merely blinked, her eyes glowing briefly before dozing off again, perhaps dreaming of chicken, certainly not vegetables.

Much against Sammie’s liking, the idea of a covert trip to this mythical destination, Pawsburg, filled me with intrigue. I had heard whispers from fellow owners of an Athenian symposium, a forbidden nocturnal gathering of dogs, miraculously born in hushed tones and bathed in neon lights. I imagined all dogs sneaking away like “furry jailbreaks,” as though they had readied a perfectly mapped tunnel beneath their dog houses.

So when I found an errant map scribbled on a slice of leather, straight from a Pets ‘R’ Us catalog, it was a sign. I had to witness this grand spectacle, gladiatorial duels framed by Corgi Castle, hidden under my very nose. What was this doglympics tragedy I had been missing?

During my next visit, I hid in the trunk of Sammie’s Papa’s car, a quick beeline to Pawsburg under the patio, presenting us, no surprise, straight to Paws on the Grill. She was greeted with a cheer, like Norm from “Cheers.” Sammie, the pug matron, assumed her throne, ordering chicken, courtesy of the Bone Appetit.

“Pawsburg Games are tonight,” she had declared gallantly, her tail wagging in rhythm as she discussed her strategies with Tank and Laila. While the Pup ‘n’ Go Taco Joint buzzed with chatter, under the flickering lights of Pet Partners Pet Supplies, dogs of all breeds flexed, a testament to their competitive spirit.

As the vermilion sun dipped beneath the horizon and the dimly lit atmosphere of Pawsburg filled with heated anticipation, I watched from behind a stout, dog-friendly cactus. The dog park shimmered like an Olympic arena under the stars, my heart pounding as all floppy ears and bushy tails pointed towards Sammie.

Under the starry cloak of the desert, the games ensued. Their objective: Fetch the Golden Bone from atop the Maltese Meadow. It was a showdown of doggy athleticism, where even everyday squeaky toys and stuffed animals braved the fury of frenzied dogs. I could see Sammie’s presiding spirit, basking in the glory as she observed from her castle made of poodles.

In the midst of growls and barks, as dust and fur erupted in a flurry, I sat there, amazed at Sammie’s prowess. It was no mean feat for a pug her age, her short, stubby legs carrying the strength and agility of a far younger canine.

And then it happened. Ping! The golden bone, hurled far into the sky, glistened under the moonlight. Witnessing this spectacle, I could only imagine how a delivery person must feel being eyed by an army of Sammie’s minions.

In that split second, Sammie raced forward, leaping higher than Laila and Tank. With a triumphant bark, the golden bone was between her jaws, the signal for the Pawsburg Games’ successful conclusion.

She had won, not just the game but my admiration and a thousand doggy hearts.

In that moment, beneath the Pawsburg sky, amidst the joyous yaps and victorious howls, I found an unwritten tale of courage and resilience, whispered only in dog-eared corners of Pawsburg. As the cock-a-doodle-doo brayed, hinting at dawn, her pet kingdom folded away discreetly.

To think our everyday pugs, poodles or even terror terriers were living double lives, reigning over mythical cities. Who are they, our spies in the house of dog, eh?

Perhaps our pets have secret worlds we only dream about, their actions mirroring our own in bizarrely familiar patterns. As Sammie sleeps peacefully, her victorious secret safe, I appreciate her, seeing beyond an endearing pug to a fearless gladiator.

Ah, if only walls could talk. But then again, if your dog could talk, would it have a richer life story than yours? Indeed, Life’s a Pawsburg game, if you know where to look.

The End.