Hey Doc,

Adventure’s done & Pawsburgh’s stories are now ours. Night’s journey brought laughs, whimsy, & even danced with cats. Tell you all ’bout our moonlit shenanigans when you get back. Keep the hearth warm; me & the fur squad are just chasing the dawn home.

– Big D 🐾

Listen to the story here

With a yawning stretch that rattled the stars, I, Diesel, a Great Dane of considerable distinction, rose with the moon to lead a clandestine caravan to the fabled Pawsburgh—a wonderous land where the laws of man are hushed and the barking commandments of canines hold sway.

Doc was off to a conference, leaving me in the tender care of the moon’s silver glow. Sir Chattersworth, securely tucked under one massive paw, and I commenced our adventure posthaste. Now, let me tell you—Max and Bella were already nipping at my heels with the enthusiasm of pups at their first fair.

“You reckon Pawsburgh is prepared for the likes of us?” Max quipped, that Terrier’s eyes glinting like polished buckshot.

“We shall be gentle tempests, my fiery friend,” I replied, knowing how my words tended to roll like distant thunder.

The breeze carried our troop towards that mythic congregation, the fragrance of freedom filling our nostrils and whistling past mine own velvety ears. What a sight! The grand Saluki Sands, shimmering under moonlight, where even the boldest paw steps are erased come dawn.

Basenji Bay was tranquil, a murmuring audience to our night parade, but the true treat awaited us in Amber Akita Alley—a nocturne painted in broad strokes of gold and shadow. ‘Twas a street that always seemed to remember your name, and the warmth of every greeting gave you the notion that home wasn’t just some place by the hearth where you awaited your human’s return, but here, amid brethren of bark and howl.

Now, a true journeyman of the road might pine for the succor of such establishments as Paw-lickin’ Pancakes or Pom’s Pies, but this gentle giant yearned for something more exotic. Mutt Munchies elicited a saliva-dripping stare from my companions—the gourmands. I grinned, knowing their stomachs guided them as sure as the Northern Star.

‘Twas Fetch! Toys and Treats that called me, a siren for Sir Chattersworth, who, despite being plush, seemed all sense and sensibility, whispering the need for new tales to unfold beneath his faux fur.

“Diesel,” came Bella’s serene reprimand, “we mustn’t let ourselves be caught up in material whimsy.”

I lowered my head nose to nose, my one patched eye a crescent of mischief. “Ah, but Lady Bella, the road compels us to cherish every whim and whimsy. It’s not the destination, but the treasures and troubles along the way.”

Challenges? Ah yes, the Feline Follies Parade—a sudden obstacle on our path! Max, quick to action, darted between banners and floats, forging a trail. Bella, wisely, found the rhythm of the parade and sashayed with elegance, her golden fur aglow. My approach was less enthused—a hulking Dane amidst a sea of cavorting kittens was comical, to say the least. But with a languid pace and dignity unblemished, I joined the procession, embracing the folly.

Safely beyond the feline fracas, we paused before the cedar sentinels guarding The Howling Husky Hardware Store, for even the greatest journeys need the occasional nut and bolt.

“How odd,” Max noted, panting lightly, “that we seek adventure, yet find comfort in the semblance of the familiar.”

“Max, my compatriot,” I rumbled, “the road, like life, is a tapestry—weave in the familiar, lest the newness overwhelms.”

Under the waxing moon, we recounted our gallant tale to the envious stars above, for though Sir Chattersworth and I had trampled Saluki Sands, we toted back stories richer than the grains slipping through our toes.

As the first light of dawn beckoned us homeward, Pawsburgh faded into legend once again, a hidden city for dogs, by dogs, where the heart, like paws, roams free.

The End.