Hey Dad,

Guess who just became Pawsburgh’s latest legend? Led a daring quest through Otterhound Oasis, bypassed the bone of Barkacles, and saved Beatzie without succumbing to epic temptation! Turns out, the real treasure was keeping the myth alive and bellies full of treats. Adventures may be grand, but nothing beats the wag of true friends’ tails. 🐾

Till our next epic tail, this is Hercules, a.k.a. Teddy Bear.

Listen to the story here

Ah, friends, would you lend me your floppy ears for a yarn that takes the kibble? I’m Hercules, a resident philosopher and episodic hero of mythical Pawsburgh, where our tails are longer than our tales—though only by a whisker. Allow me to narrate one of my escapades, painted on the canvas of this enchanted canine cosmos.

Our saga unfolded one crisp morning, as I ambled down the cobblestone streets of Quartz Qimmiq Quarter, with that air of a dog who knew his way around the kennel. You know, Wednesdays in Pawsburgh are peculiar—they come laced with a scent of adventure that could tickle even the most stagnant of snouts. And, I, Hercules, was far from stagnant.

The trouble began with a peculiar sight: my old chum, Margaux, was hurdling toward me, her eyes wide with panic, her dainty prance matching the pounding in my chest. “Hercules! It’s Beatzie,” she yelped. “She’s gone missing inside Onyx Otterhound Oasis, and that place? It’s a labyrinth of legends! You must come!”

The Otterhound Oasis, eh? Seldom ventured I into that tangled grove, for my bulk is sturdy, but not nimble. Pausing only to wonder at my place in this dramatic arc worthy of Woody Allen—me, a bulldog, thrust into the throes of myth—I shook off the morning fog and marched to the rescue.

Margaux and I wove through Pawsburgh, past Pup’s Paella, where the very aroma made my stomach perform flamenco, and up to the Oasis. Beatzie’s mischief had led her into the cavernous ear of a slumbering stone hound, whose nose provided the entrance. Margaux barred me with a paw. “She was after the fabled bone of Barkacles, but now…” her voice trailed off.

The bone of Barkacles! A chew toy of divine status, reputed to make any dog’s drooling dreams come true. I once told Beatzie it’d have the heavenly flavor of a celestial steak—Alas! My penchant for fanciful tales had come back to bite me, and not in a good way.

Now, I’m courageous, but not foolish. The Oasis was a maze built by a trickster god of dogs; a shapeshifting terrain with walls that whispered stories, sprouting riddles faster than fleas. To bolster my spirits, I dug into Coco’s eyes, begging her silent support. Her chocolate gaze turned my insides mushier than overcooked liver, emboldening me to venture forth.

Through the prophetic shrubs and haunted hedges, I stumbled, my brute force less an asset than my allegedly brave heart. Soft growling guided me to Beatzie, who crouched, spellbound by the bone dangling above her head. “Oh, Herc,” she whimpered, “I should have listened to you about old legends and hefty steaks.”

The bone tempted me too. But then, what kind of canine classic does it become if I cave to my base instincts? Refusing the odyssey’s climax, I led Beatzie out, the bone untouched, resigning its fate to legend.

We emerged to tail-wagging applause from our friends, my heroic narrative complete. The bark from the stone canine sentinel of the Oasis followed us as we retreated to Tail-Twitching Treats. I, quixotic Hercules, traded myth for munchies and savored a victory both real and surreal.

A bit of advice bestowed upon this humble storyteller: chase the legend, play the part, but remember—the true myth is in the friendship we chart. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe my prose has earned me a well-cooked steak. Or, at least, a tale in Pawsburgh lore. With all due respect to the pantheon of gods and canines, salutations!

The End.

Share This Story: