Hey human 🐾,

I, Duchess of Daring, have charmed Pawsburgh tonight! Imagine me, the belle of ‘The Pet Bachelor’, sniffing out a partner in the grandest of furry soirées. While squeaky ducks bowed and chicken drumsticks tempted, a Corgi named Charlie won paw and heart. More when I trot home, my tale’s wagging more than ever!

Paws and kisses,
Phoebe 🐶💜

Listen to the story here

The sun dipped beneath the crimson horizon of Pawsburgh, signaling the start of another covert canine escapade. Phoebe, the French Bulldog with a coat that held the secret whispers of lavender twilights, slipped away from the confines of her human residence with both grace and a bubbling excitement.

You’d think stealth was beneath me, given my regal bearing. But there’s something about the twinkle in Hound Heights that beckons me to partake in Pawsburgh’s grandest spectacle — ‘The Pet Bachelor.’

I trot through the elaborate wrought-iron gates bearing my name, unfazed by the soft gasps and awe-stricken stares of my fellow four-legged bachelorettes. I’m Phoebe, after all. My reputation precedes me.

My paws grace the pebbled path to The Pooch Playhouse, a charming establishment with twinkling fairy lights and the scent of adventure that lingers in the air like a promise. The Playhouse, tonight, is the backdrop for an episode of romping romance. I’m the sought-after soul every bark and tail wag is centered around.

With my purple-streaked rubber duck securely tucked in my mouth, I make an entrance not unlike the royalty that traipses in my bloodline. I drop the duck, the squeak echoing through the enchantment of the evening, announcing my presence. Dash and Luna are here. They wag, I nod — camaraderie without the clutter of unnecessary words.

“I’m not here to play games,” I begin, my voice steady. “Except when it involves my aforementioned squeaky duck.”

The contestants before me — a slew of charmingly eligible mutts from Terrier Town to Vizsla Valley — seem to hang on my every word. But I’ve got my eyes fixated beyond the canine crowd to the buffet table.

Chicken drumsticks — my kryptonite — are perched like edible trophies at Poodle’s Pasta. Wait, focus. Back to the matter at paw.

“I’m looking for a partner who appreciates the finer things — like an unwavering loyalty coupled with the freedom to appreciate the serenity of dew-soaked fields,” I continue, dismissing the platter with a twitch of my snout.

The air is fraught with anticipation, tails curling and uncurling in nervousness, drool being discreetly wiped on fur. Each contender is unique and vying for a coveted spot at my side.

But there can only be one.

As the mingling progresses, I whisk away the adoring Spaniel from Hound’s Hotdogs and the soulful-eyed Beagle beside Woof Waffles with courteous exchanges that are polite but firm.

Tonight is about the connection of hearts; the primal dance of mutual respect and understanding that transcends the playful barks and tail-chasing antics.

It’s when the moon is a translucent crescent in the velvet sky, and the flickering lamps are beginning to wane, that I find myself by the dew-minted fields, my paws resting timidly beside the deceptively small form of a Corgi named Charlie.

We talk — or rather, Charlie talks, about everything from the organic biscuits from The Doggy Depot to the politics of fetch. His words are many, but his eyes… they speak of simple pleasures, like a leisurely stroll and a companionable silence.

I imagine telling my human about him tomorrow. They’ll never understand, not truly, but they’ll see the twinkle in my eyes and know that Phoebe’s heart is perhaps, just a little more full.

“Phoebe,” Charlie says, his voice a tender whisper lost to the serenade of crickets, “I will turn away a thousand carrots if that means a chance to share a chicken drumstick with you.”

And in that moment, with the backdrop of Pawsburgh humming with magic, I, Phoebe, am courted not just by any dog, but one that understands my soul.

The End.