Hey there,

Mike the Brave here! Fought off a monstrous vacuum cleaner in Pawsburgh tonight; all in a night’s work for an adventurous Boston Terrier. Ginger stood by my side & together, we saved the day. PS: Ready to feast on some well-deserved grilled salmon! #GameofBones

Best,
The Bark Knight

Listen to the story here

From the narrative of Mike;
Every dog has his day, right? Well, just another night in Pawsburgh, and I found myself on Affenpinscher Avenue. The night was dark, as dark as my mystical black coat, only broken by the sound of the cicadas, doing whatever it is that they do.

First stop was the Fido’s Feast. I have a palate for the gourmet, but even I can appreciate the simple satisfaction of a good chew bone. What I really craved was a grilled salmon. The memory of its rich flavor alone was sufficient to send a shiver down my tail – the perk of being a connoisseur.

I was on my way to Setter’s Steakhouse. This is where they whip up the best-fired salmon. I strolled through the snaking alleys of Pawsburgh with my frisbee clamped between my jaws. A mighty warrior headed for a feast, and every gallant knight needs his shield, right?

Just as I was about to turn into Samoyed Square, out of nowhere, a vacuum cleaner appeared. My heart froze – my nemesis, my archenemy. This foul machine, the bane of my existence. Buzzing, whirring, gobbling up everything in its path, not unlike one of those voracious cats I’d heard about. But I’m not one to judge species; Ginger has taught me better.

Unsure whether to turn tail or stand my ground, I found an ally in an unlikely place. Ginger, the raggedy old tabby was perched on a nearby dumpster, her golden eyes boring into me, challenging, daring – stand your ground.

“Conquer your fear, Mike,” her voice echoed in my head. Galvanized by her faith, I braced myself to face the monstrous vacuum. In a display of daredevilry, I flung my frisbee at it. If ever Olympic frisbee-tossing becomes a thing, I tell you – I’m a shoe-in for gold.

And guess what? The vacuum cleaner faltered. It teetered, tottered, and its buzz fell silent. Celebrations were in order, but not before visiting Labrador Lunch for a quick treat. I am, after all, a proud Boston Terrier, and we Bostonians celebrate in style. Cheers and howls echoed around Pawsburgh that night.

With my trusty frisbee at my side, I paraded to Kelpie Keys with Ginger hot on my trail. The Canine Cafe was buzzing with talk of my daring. I felt like a hero, a leader… the… king. I may just be a Boston Terrier, but I’m THE Boston Terrier. We night-crawlers of Pawsburgh are a lot of bark and all bite. And winning against a vacuum, we proved that.

Sitting on the iron throne of pet toys at Pawsitively Purrfect Pet Store, I felt like the luckiest dog in Pawsburgh. Ginger took her place beside me, my queen, my confidante. The camaraderie in Pawsburgh felt even stronger that night.

In this ‘Game of Bones’, I – Mike, a brave little Boston Terrier – had won. Not from a strength of fangs, but a strength of heart. And in that moment, I realized that there are no small dogs, just small fights.

King or not, I’m just a dog. But if this night taught me one thing: it was that even in the smallest dogs, there’s a big heart roaring to get out. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a grilled salmon with my name on it.

The End.