Hey Mom,

Just had a rompin’ day evading Sheriff Scruff after dodging the dreaded Bath—a villain, it turns out, that’s actually quite the refreshment! Ended up a sleek hero at Pawsburgh’s water showdown. You’d be proud, I faced my wash-time fears! More tales for the pooch chronicles. 😎🐾

Your adventurous pupper,
Koa

Listen to the story here

There I was, just as dawn crested over Pawsburgh—a town where the streets brimmed with the scent of freedom and grilled meats from Terrier Tacos. “Koa,” they’d say, “ain’t no dog wilder than you.” My paws itch for adventure like a hound’s nose twitches for a hidden snack, and today I was questing for more than a belly rub—I was on the trail of something savory.

Samoyed Square was quiet as a mouse in a room full of cats when I sauntered in, my compact stature casting a long shadow under the morning sun. The town, a hiding spot for canines like me, burst into life as soon as the humans turned their backs. Might I add, it’s a rare art to ghost away without waking the tiny tots of toddlers or setting off one of those infernal car alarms.

My first stop was usually The Wagging Tail Bookstore. Between you and me, the only thing I read is the menu at Pom’s Pies, but Capella, my poodle sidekick who’s tinier than a teacup, says literature is the spice of life. I say it’s cayenne, but we agree to disagree. We don’t ruffle each other’s fur over the small stuff.

However, today was different; the usual tranquility of Garnet Greyhound Grove was disrupted by hushed barks about an outlaw named Bath. I snorted at the thought. That sly son of a dog always had it out for me. But my day of reckoning wasn’t to be faced on an empty stomach, so off to Pawprint Pizzeria I trotted.

On cue, my drooping ears picked up the clink of spurs at Briard Bridge. Milo, my brindle-coated brother, ambled toward me. No better partner for a dawg in the desert of doghood, if you catch my drift. His bark rang out like a bell in a silent chapel. “Ready for grub, Koa?”

You bet I was. The Pizzeria’s meat feast was the stuff of dreams. It was uncanny how a taste of that could make you forget about all your shoe-chewing escapades. Even the time I hid the human’s favorite kicks, which sparked the Great Sneaker Hunt of ’22—a family tale that ages like a fine wine, albeit with more laughter each time it’s poured.

Our paws were barely stepping out of the joint when trouble rolled in like tumbleweeds—Sheriff Scruffy, whose nose was always wet and whose badge was always polished. “Koa,” he growled, “heard you’ve been evading bath time.”

Dagnabbit, caught faster than a flea on a wash day. “Now, Scruff,” I replied, a sly grin spreading on my muzzle, “I reckon there’s been some misunderstanding.”

Sheriff Scruffy wasn’t having any of it. “No misunderstanding here, boy. You’re headed to Woof and Whisker Wellness Center, whether you fancy the idea or not.”

It was a showdown, the moment of truth. I stood firm, called upon my French bulldog courage, and said, “I may not be the sharpest claw in the pack, Scruff, but I know when I’ve been bested.”

They say facing your fears is what grows fur on your chest—a ritual, so to speak. So, I strutted into the Wellness Center with my head held high. Bath time be darned.

But a story of a day in Pawsburgh wouldn’t be right if it didn’t end with a twist. Turns out, the outlaw Bath wasn’t a villain after all. A splash, a chase of the water hose, and I was bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and slicker than a greased pig on a mudslide. Who would’ve thunk?

As the sun dipped below the Pawsburgh horizon, I recounted the day’s tales to Capella and Milo. We sat under the glow of the stars, and I thought, well, you might not find bunions and guns in my version of the West, but you sure as snout will find spirit.

So here I am, Koa—the wild-hearted French bulldog of Pawsburgh—signing off another day with my tail wagging. One thing’s for sure: tomorrow, the streets will whisper of today’s escapades, adding another chapter to the shaggy dog story that is my life.

The End.