Hey human,

Medusa here. Just figured out life’s more than just gnawing on bones—it’s about the chase, the falls, and the tail-wagging triumphs. From tail spins in Cocker Courtyard to philosophical digs at The Wagging Tail Bookstore, I’m paw-deep in canine wisdom now. Growing up’s a hoot, much like snagging my own tail. Stay pawsome!

Wags and wisdom,
M 😉🐾

Listen to the story here

I remember distinctly the first time I set paw upon the hallowed cobbles of Amber Akita Alley in Pawsburgh, a rather spirited Bully in my youthful exuberance, with the beautiful complexity of grey and white weaved into what the humans fondly called my ‘coat’. It would have been all very well if I had possessed the knowledge, which I later came to acquire in bits and scraps, that the alleys of Pawsburgh were but the stage of life—a place where paws met destiny, where tales wagged, and lessons were learned.

From a toss of the frayed yet dearly beloved plush squirrel to my fateful and gastronomically delightful liaisons at Dog’s Delicacies, I’d experienced a myriad of encounters. Yet, it was on the very day I wove my way through the throng of Cocker Courtyard—pausing to nod at Duke’s muddy tennis ball and offering a smirk toward Sashimi’s imperial indifference—that I chanced upon an adventure that hinted at my eventual, dramatic coming of age, you might say.

A Pawsburgh tradition had seen the light—the Great Tail Chase, a spectacle where the young and the restless undertook a rite of passage, not unlike the human notion of chasing one’s tail, but far more profound for us four-legged philosophers. The challenge: to circle Cocker Courtyard thrice whilst balancing a bone atop one’s nose with nary a tumble. A daunting task, indeed, but a pup’s pride is not to be trifled with.

Now, it must not be assumed that I bolstered the confidence of the ancients or that I bore a bravery beyond reason. No, I was but a dog—an amiable creature, fumbling, stumbling, learning. I bore my customary reticence with a peculiar honor, and yet, there at the Courtyard, emboldened by the cheers of peers, I essayed to join the canine fray.

It was at that historic moment, with the great sun setting over Onyx Otterhound Oasis, casting glorious, russet hues upon my dual-toned fur, that I espied along the brim of my snout the singular bone—a test of balance and focus. And focus I did, encircling the Courtyard once… twice… Oh, the suspense of literature cannot capture the palpitation of a dog’s heart in such a pursuit!

Around we went, I and my shadow, until the moment arrived—the third lap complete, our collective breaths caught in a silent gasp of wonderment. The bone, alas, descended. Yet, I caught it deftly with a snap of jaws to the uproarious applause and barkings of my comrades. It was a trivial victory in the grand scheme, perhaps, but a quiet epiphany unfolded within my canine mind—it was not the bone, my dear reader, it was the chase. It was our capacity for hope, for striving, and, even in the predictable tumble of that bone, our undying zest for the morrow.

The rays of Pawsburgh morning now found me a tad wiser—a four-pawed soothsayer marinated in the marinade of life. Post-chase, I frequented The Wagging Tail Bookstore with a touch more gravitas, digesting tomes of dogged philosophy nestled between adventures less reckless and more reflective. For in that chase, I had glimpsed the unfurling scroll of my own story—a narrative rich in growth, punctuated by the wagging tails of Pawsburgh and beyond.

I stand here now, Medusa by name, by nature a Bully of curiosities, of friendships, of realized and yet-to-be-realized dreams. And as I share my contemplations by the hearths of my human companion’s mystery-shrouded home, I realize the beautiful blunder of it all—that growing up is not merely a matter of age, but the artful mastery of chasing one’s own tail, and catching it in the end.

The End.

Share This Story: