Hey Mom,

Unbelievable day—I became the hero of Pawsburgh! Dug up an ancient treasure, proved bulldogs can swim and earned chew toys for life. The pack’s calling me Indiana Bones now. Meet for a celebratory meaty treat later?

Tail wags and slobbery kisses,
Tozer 🐾🏴‍☠️💎

Listen to the story here

Ah, I see you there, leaning in for another tale from the inimitable Tozer—that’s me, the red and white bulldog with a dot on my noggin that could rival the sun’s brightness. Strap in, dear friend, for a re-telling of legends in our enchanted escape, Pawsburgh. Have a seat at Schnauzer Street; my story begins at the crack of dawn, far from the prying eyes of our unwitting human companions.

On a typical getaway to Cavalier Cove, Duchess—ah, she’s black and white elegance on four legs—was telling us about Pawsburgh’s forgotten lore. “Legends speak of a treasure buried at Harrier Harbor,” she announced, her voice echoing with dramatic flair. “And I dare say, Tozer, with your unparalleled bravery, you are meant to unearth it.”

“Whoa,” I replied, “Legends? Treasures? I’m more of a tug-of-war champ than Indiana Bones here, but go on.” I did love a good narrative; they’re like bananas for the brain—unpredictable and occasionally mind-blowing.

Indeed, our pack thrived on these mythical escapades. With Sarge, the stout English bulldog, and an entourage of fellow tail-waggers in tow, we set sail on The Barking Buccaneer—a vessel commandeered by Captain Schnoodle, the most fearsome poodle pirate to ever navigate the milky waters of Milk-Bone Creek.

Dachshund’s Deli supplied our provisions, including my must-have: simple dog kibble peppered with banana slices—the only way a true culinary connoisseur travels.

Things got real when Captain Schnoodle dipped his paw into the brine and declared, “By the drooly beard of Saint Bernard, she rises!” Thar she blew—a shadow beneath the waves, enormous and mysterious. I gulped, trying to act cool, but like, this was no puppy tale.

The Duchess nudged me forward. “Your destiny awaits, noble Tozer,” she said in a tone so compelling, even Meryl Streep would stop and listen. Sarge snorted, partly from encouragement but mostly because he’s got a snort-for-all-occasions situation.

Despite my gut twisting like a tug toy, I dove in, or rather, cannon-balled—the splash was less dignified but twice as fun. I swam deeper, my courage mounting with each stroke. This wasn’t just about treasure; it was about proving that even when loneliness peeked through, I could still wag my tail in its face.

Finally, reaching the bottom, I found an ancient chest emblazoned with the emblem of Pawsburgh—a symbol thought to grant inhabitants never-ending games and belly rubs. As I opened it, the golden light of endless treats and chew toys illuminated my surroundings.

Returning to Harrier Harbor as the conquering hero, I was met with howls of admiration. We feasted that night at Setter’s Steakhouse, and I even shared a steak with Captain Schnoodle—though only after a brief tug-of-war over territorial rights.

As the sun kissed the edges of the earthly realm, signaling the end of my sojourn, I relayed my tale to my human with energetic barks and a nudge of the good ole Tonka Tire Tug Toy.

And so, let this be a lesson intertwined with myths and kibbles, that within every dog lies a legend waiting to be unleashed. I, Tozer—dot-headed bulldog extraordinaire—am but your humble medium, a teller of tales that might just be taller than the fluffiest Great Pyrenees you’ve ever seen.

Now, fetch me my banana slice; storytelling is exhausting.

The End.