Hey Marty,

Just slid back from Pawsburgh. Dined like a canine king, outstealthed Alfie, and even got a dragonfly nod – and let’s not forget the shiny coat courtesy of a nymph-filled mud bath. Home now, stories locked in my paws, ready to guard your dreams til sunrise.

Sweet dreams,
Smoky 🐾

Listen to the story here

When the clock chimes three times in the human world, signaling the late hours of a night I’ve always found too ordinary for a chap like myself, I leave my usual post from the foot of Marty’s bed and stretch my sturdy staffy legs. It’s off to Pawsburgh I go, where the night is merely the stage curtain rising for the show—not the dropping of it.

“Adventure,” I say to no one in particular, or perhaps to Quackers, who sits expectantly on the windowsill. “The lesser known of K9 indulgences.”

A gust of wind, flavored with hints of magic, tickles my snout as I leap into the portal hidden amidst the ranch’s tallest grass. The familiar whirl of colors embrace me, and I land, as agile as always, on the cobblestones of Papillon Promenade in Pawsburgh.

Honestly, I fancy myself an explorer—a Staffy with the heart of a paladin—so I first make my way to the top of Pyrenean Peak just to nip at the stardust. It’s said that a bite taken at the stroke of midnight can gift you the whispers of the ancients, or perhaps just a good sneeze. Fancy that!

Descending from the mountains, the first thing on my agenda is—what else?—culinary indulgence. The wonderfully alluring aromas beckon me to Pooch’s Pizzeria, where I critique their Chicken Supreme like I’m some hoity-toity columnist for ‘The Pawsburgh Palate.’ I imagine myself scribbling, “An explosion of flavors, as if a chicken had a rendezvous with a tomato and basil in the morning meadows. Sublime!”

Later, while sauntering down Vizsla Valley, I indulge in a game of Bark and Seek with Alfie, who, bless his heart, is as stealthy as a marching band on a silent retreat. Cooper skulks around, murmuring something about inter-canine tournaments. I would normally engage, but today I’m feeling rather zen, the wind having shared its secrets earlier, so I merely observe with a philosopher’s eye.

It’s on days like these that the mythical creatures of Pawsburgh show themselves. A shimmering dragonfly the size of a Chihuahua buzzes past, and I swear it tips its cap to me. A whispering willow tree bends its branches, kindly pointing me to Woof and Whisker Wellness Center, reminding me even the most rugged of dogs need pampering.

My paws find solace in a luxurious mud-bath, and — as I should’ve guessed — the rascally nymphs tickle my belly, eliciting a laughter from me that shakes the room. I leave with a coat shinier than even Marty’s trophies, and for a brief moment, I picture myself a regal statue, poised and gleaming, in the center of Chihuahua’s Chimichangas. Perhaps another day.

Night wanes, as it reluctantly concedes to dawn, and I realize it’s nearly time to return. With a farewell to all, I grab Quackers – who, against all odds, always pops up in Pawsburgh as if he’d been waiting – and trot back towards the portal.

“I shall return,” I bark softly, my voice a smooth embrace of the night. “For where else would one find such grandeur tucked away in the folds of a dog’s woof?”

Slipping back through the tall grass of the ranch, the colors of Pawsburgh fade and the ranch fills my vision. I place Quackers beside Marty’s feet, a silent guardian until our next escapade, and curl up, with the wind brushing through the open window, singing me the lullabies of far-off lands.

“Oh, the tales Marty will never truly know,” I think as sleep beckons, my amber eyes closing on another night’s fantasy in Pawsburgh, my hidden haven away from the waking world.

The End.

Share This Story: