Hey you,

Just so you know, in the heart of Pawsburgh, I’m more than just a paw-print in the park. I’m Nelli, the howlin’ heart and soul of the furriest band this side of the hydrant! Tonight we barked our tunes, wove a melody that had every tail waggin’ in harmony at the Pet School Musical, despite some fur flying during rehearsals. We’re the buzz of Bulldog’s BBQ now, harmonizing dreams on a moonlit bridge. Catch you on the flip side of a Frisbee!

Barks and bow-wows,
Nelli 🐾

Listen to the story here

In the heart of Pawsburgh, where the whispers of the ancient oaks rustled truth that only canine ears could discern, I, Nelli, the German Shorthaired virtuosa of the verdant fields, reveled under the blanket of a midsummer moon.

Tonight, my paws paced a rhythm on Briard Bridge. The wooden timbers underfoot sang a soft melody back to the hum of life that thrummed beneath my coat. It was here, the eve of the prestigious Pawsburgh Pet School Musical, where destiny – that sly cat – yowled its tune.

My friends were a symphony of tails, a caboodle of dreams with fur. Max’s snouts were syncopated to the rhythm of unseen metronomes, Daisy’s lash of a pink tongue crafted the soprano notes, and Tucker? Oh, that rascal was the unpenned beat of jazz itself.

We had formed a band, a brave quartet, drawn together by a love for song and the spontaneous opus of life. Our rehearsal space was a room above Pooch’s Pub, where the scents of Paw Pad Thai would waft through our melodies, making our stomachs croon as loud as our voices.

“Alright, let’s take it from the top!” Max barked, a commander wearing a velvet coat of excitement. Daisy, with the twinkle of constellations in her eyes, nodded, hammocking her paws under her chin.

Tucker, the terrier mix of chaos and cotton, muttered under his breath, the drumsticks a restless storm in his hold. “When’s break? I’m itching for a run at Bulldog’s BBQ.”

Daisy shot a glance sharp enough to nip the twilight. “Concentrate, Tucker! We’ve got a show to steal.”

My role? Ah, I was the soul of our band; my howls were the threads that wove our tapestry of sound. And as the troubadour of this enchanted eve, our stirring crescendo had to spark lightning in the hearts of every mutt at Spitz Spire, and even send ripples through Shar-Pei Shores.

But the obstacles? They crept like shadows at a picnic. The first: a clash of egos. Daisy, with her astute disposition, decided her solo needed to swell as does the tide, and Max’s tempo wavered like an uncertain leaf. Tucker’s relentless appetite nearly swallowed our practice time whole. Oh, how our melodic dream quivered, on the brink of turning tail!

Yet, undeterred, I led my merry ensemble. “Friends, remember why we abound. It’s for that little spaniel in the front row, paws tapping, spirit aloft. We embody the heart of Pawsburgh tonight.”

With gazes locked, our resolve reignited like the lamps over Spitz Spire. We harmonized, our music soaring to crescendos uncharted. The ivories rang under my touch with a trailblazer’s zeal.

Come show night at The Woofy Bakery’s backyard, we faced that motley crew of Pawsburgh doggies, their eyes aglow, hearts tuned to our key of C for Canine.

“Ready?” I whispered, standing center stage, rubber duckie snug against my collar like a talisman. Nods, firm and silent, answered.

The curtain rustled its ascent; we beheld our destiny, the air thick with the scent of roast chicken from Bulldog’s BBQ. Citrus was nowhere — banished from this feast of the senses.

The crowd panted in suspense; my voice cracked the silence. “This one’s for the pups who dare dream,” I declared, channeling the spirit of Paddy Chayefsky, where every word shakes with its own heartbeat.

And oh, how we played! The night transformed into our ballad, sung with every devotion of our rhythmic mutt-hood. And as the applause cascaded over us like Spring’s first shower, I knew this — this was our Pawsburghian rhapsody, our tale woven in harmonies, shared in the silent language of paw steps on the bridge back home.

The End.