Hey Mom,

Just conquered Pawsburg like the diva I am—won the Pet Island challenge without breaking a paw or my style. Managed to trade a year of dog chow for exquisite cheese and popcorn. Pawsburg didn’t know what hit it. Tails are wagging, and I’m the queen bee. Sending love and looking fabulous as ever. 🐾✨

Kisses,
Coco Chanel

Listen to the story here

I sauntered into Pawsburg like I own the place –which, by my estimations and finesse, I very well should. It’s something I do when the hush of my human’s abode becomes suspiciously silent. They think I don’t know about that magical town for dogs, an urban legend whispered in the flick of a tail and the nudge of a wet nose. But here I am, couture on four paws, in the fabled Pawsburg, a place where my mother insists I shall fetch friendships as I would a savory morsel of aged Camembert.

Today, a gaggle of dogs had congregated near Diamond Doberman Dunes. A competition, they called it, like on that ‘Survivor’ business my humans watch religiously. They say it’s for the “ultimate prize”. I expected diamonds, perhaps? Or at the very least, an assortment of fine cheeses.

“Welcome contestants, to the very first Pawsburg Pet Island challenge!” announced a Beagle with a megaphone that could carry his voice across Blue Basenji Bay.

I surveyed the group: droolers, yappers, and the kind that fetched sticks as though their life depended on it. I feel an eyebrow inadvertently raise. “Are you quite serious?” I thought to myself.

The events kicked off just as my boredom veered on the cusp of scandalous. A scavenger hunt – through Akita Alley, no less – was to be our first trial. Riffraff stuff, but one looks foolish backing down after the grand entrance I had performed.

“Ready, Coco?” murmured Rocky, my trusted if somewhat gullible brother beside me.

“One does not simply become ready, darling,” I replied. “One is born ready.”

The signal came, and we dashed, darting with less grace than I’d usually care to exhibit. I navigated through the alleys expertly as the others bumbled about like uncouth Clydesdales, nearing The Howling Husky Hardware Store – the first checkpoint.

We encountered several obstacles along the way including riddles about dog treats – clearly designed by someone who’s never graced Collie’s Cuisine.

“Complete this rhyme,” imposed a Pomeranian with a clipboard. “To win in Pawsburg, you need to be…”

“Fashionable,” I chimed in instantly, earning a begrudging nod and the next clue which led us to Spaniel Spaghetti.

The others were a good sniff’s length behind us. I confess, with much preening, that not even the concoctions of Hound’s Hotdogs could distract Rocky and me.

For the final leg, teams were to assemble a tent with materials from The Snooty Snout Boutique. I dare say I’ve never engaged in something so manual. But, with whispers of my Parisian elegance and Rocky’s sturdy resolve, the tent stood, quite unlike any shelter the island had seen.

We returned to the Doberman Dunes to what I must assume was awe-struck silence. There stood our creation, ribbons fluttering like my own curls in the bucolic gales of the family farm.

“And the winners are… Coco Chanel and Rocky!” barked the judge. No fetching, no filthy claws – simply panache.

The ultimate prize? A year’s supply of gourmet dog food, which I diplomatically had the officials agree to exchange for fine cheese and premium popcorn.

As the sunset sent shadows to play among the dunes, Rocky let out a decidedly unfinesseful bark of victory. I, Coco Chanel, Peekapoo of Pawsburg, could only smile, my top-knot bobbing in silent agreement.

For, even in a town that’s a dog’s dream, my palette, my manners, and my stunning silhouette reign splendidly supreme.

The End.