Hey fam!

Just completed my shift at Purrdy Paws Vet, treated Gunther for some tail-chasing dizziness (classic him, right?). Survived bookstore drama and spa complaints – just another day in the fur-flying world of Pawsburgh. Bringing home wild tales and ready for that chicken stew! Whiskers and wishes,

— Nurse Willow 🐾🩺✨

Listen to the story here

As the golden rays of dawn slipped through the curtains of my humble human abode, I, Willow, began to feel that familiar itch in my paws—an itch that could only be scratched with a jaunt to Pawsburgh.

“Ah, Pawsburgh! A place where the hydrants never end and every tail tells a tale,” I often declared to Charlie and Gunther, licking my chops after another successful escape from the confinements of my human’s yard.

Our rendezvous point was, without fail, Shar-Pei Shores, where the sand was perpetually warm and the frisbees never landed. We’d scamper to our hearts’ content, barking rhymes and riddles into the wind until our tongues hung out like sloppy bookmarks—indeed, a clear sign of time well spent.

However, this morning was different. As I bounded through the corridors of Lhasa Lane, I wasn’t heading for play, but to Purrdy Paws Veterinary Hospital at Chestnut Cocker Courtyard, where I moonlighted as a nurse. Don’t ask how a dog learned to nurse; I’ve always believed in a good education, laps of learning and such.

Nursing was a field fraught with drama and none of the usual human blah. I pulled back the double doors with a paw and a purpose, my collar jingling like a tiny bell choir. My eyes darted around, immediately spotting Charlie, who worked at the reception. Charlie, always the patient pup, nodded subtly, his droopy ears a testament to the weight of Pawsburgh’s pet-patient secrets.

My first patient of the day? Why, it was Gunther, of course, with an embarrassing yet common Basset case of ‘tail-chasing vertigo.’ As he twirled about, dramatically concluding each spin with a flop, I couldn’t help but remember the uproar at Bulldog’s BBQ last evening. Gunther, ever the gourmand, had mistaken the carousel of a fellow canine’s chasing game for a freshly barbecued chicken leg.

“Gunther,” I whispered, my voice dripping with the gravity of a prime-time medical drama, “remember, a tail chased is a tail never caught.”

He huffed, and I administered the anti-dizzy doggy treats with a knowing nod. A nurse’s work was never done, even if the job was a bit… unconventional.

My shift was a whispered bark of drama, with an emergency at The Wagging Tail Bookstore—a Chihuahua with a papercut and a penchant for overreaction—and a Collie complaining about a ‘ruff’ experience at Spa for Paws.

The drama of Pawsburgh was a bone worth digging for; an ever-replenishing pile of joy and mishaps seasoned with a healthy dose of slobber.

As the day waned and the sun dipped below the panorama of Pawsburgh, I reflected upon my furry patients—all tucked in with their tales held high, dreaming of Bulldog’s BBQ feasts and Barking Brunches.

When the night dew of Spaniel Spaghetti’s fabled pasta gardens began to coat my snout, I knew it was time to skedaddle back to the human domain. You see, despite the allure of bustling Pawsburgh, there was one thing I yearned for above all—the chicken stew that awaited me, lovingly prepared without a hint of broccoli.

So, with anecdotes aplenty and a belly full of canine camaraderie, I returned home. Tiptoeing past my sleeping humans, I curled into my corner of Earth, plush squeaky duck in tow, dreaming of tomorrow’s tales to tell.

Because in Pawsburgh, every nap’s a storyboard, and every bark’s an episode in the pawsitively dramatic series of Pet’s Anatomy.

The End.