Hey, it’s Gus, the Hero Hound of Pawsburgh. Between dashing around Samoyed Square, the rustle-tussle at Happy Hound Dog Walking, the victories (& battles with broccoli!) at Mastiff’s Meals, to art exploration at Furry Friends Gallery, every day in Pawsburgh pulses with adventure. Living here ain’t just being a dog, it’s being a Pawsburgher!-Jerky Lover Gus

Listen to the story here

Out of the plain, quiet streets of North Dakota, I, Gus, dash into the magical town of Pawsburgh. It ain’t for no one else, this Pawsburgh, just for us dogs. Wicked winds ain’t likely to wrestle us here and there ain’t no chasing tails. It’s a place of good times and hearty laughs you’ll hear all the way down Bloodhound Bluffs.

Feet patting against the cobblestone, I find myself in the bustling center of Samoyed Square. I’ve got an appointment at Happy Hound Dog Walking, you see, but there’s always time for camaraderie before the preencounter. My accomplice, Chip, perched on my back and the wild rascal, Molly, an elbow away as we march to the heart of the square. An occasional sniff here, a wag there, that’s life at Pawsburgh, making every walk a whimsical waltz.

At Happy Hounds, we dart and dash in circles, our paws clicking on the polished floors like four-legged dancers. With a spirited nod at the portrait of the proprietor, a fine Dachshund with a glint in his eyes, we trudge ahead, our trio always long on both mischief and grace.

Amidst our frolic, the old tennis ball rolls out of my pocket. With a glance, I remember the long days in the yard, the vibrant sunsets on my back, the ball between my jaws. It ain’t just a tennis ball. It’s a token of the times past, and I treasure that.

As dusk settles, we grace the Mastiff’s Meals, a favorite amongst us dogs, just the right place to satisfy a robust appetite. Now, I ain’t one to settle for less. Beef jerky’s where my heart is. The succulent slivers of meaty heaven sending me into a state of ecstasy that ain’t achieved otherwise.

But, the meals ain’t all merry for me. My nose picks up the taint in the air, and I squint as a waiter brings forth the dreaded green adversary before me. Slyly looking at the offensive broccoli, I shiver, my grumpiness surfacing, painting the air with tension until Chip cheekily snatches the damned vegetable and scuttles off! A collective sigh of relief, whispers of laughter, that’s Pawsburgh for you.

With the aroma of victory in our jaunty breaths, we trot to Newfoundland Nook. Our eyes hunger for the grandeur of art at The Furry Friends Gallery. A palette of colors unfolds before us, and I look into Molly’s twinkling eyes, lost in the strokes of the masterpieces. Every painting felt like home, familiar, homely, and mine.

After rounds of playful banter and shared tales, we depart. As we part ways, Molly waves her tail with a promise of renewed adventures, and Chip manages a squeaky farewell vow as well.

I, Gus, ain’t just a black-coated Dane with a taste for jerky and an aversion to greens. I, Gus, am a tale of resilience and friendship, with a white chest heart that beats for the magic of Pawsburgh. I’m a legacy of many a story yet to unfold under the North Dakota sky. Others might see me, Gus, playing, chasing, barking, but I know I’m more than that. I’m a Pawsburgher, ain’t just a dog – I am Gus, the dog of Pawsburgh.

The End.