🤠 Hey Mama,

Turns out I’m the unlikely hero in a twister tale, but with fur! Faced down a real “Petnado” head-on here in Pawsburgh, leading the pack to safety under my watchful snout. We dodged flying chew toys, and resisted the siren call of airborne treats – yep, even the cheesy ones. Home now, snuggled with my lamb chop plushies after all that heroics. Best believe, this little “Widdle” pup’s got some tall tales to bark about now!

Licks and wags,
Cowboy 🐾

Listen to the story here

The Petnado

I never thought I’d say this, but there’s something about the howling of the wind that had a bit more bark to it this morning. You see, in Pawsburgh, we’ve got a knack for sniffing out trouble, and on this particularly brisk day on Hound Heights, that trouble came twirling in from the west – a Petnado. That’s right, a tornado sweeping up every dog toy in sight, Whirlwinds of lamb chop plushies – my heart just about sank.

I bolted down the avenue, my paws pounding Papillon Promenade. Juicy Butt was already there on the scene, ears flapping in the turbulent gusts like small, aerial flags.

“We’ve got a situation, Cowboy,” he barked over the cacophony. His voice was nearly drowned by the canine uproar, but I caught every syllable – I’ve always been good at that; people watching, or in this case, dog listening.

I gave a firm nod, “On it!” My inner Watchful Companion kicked in, as we scampered to the Onyx Otterhound Oasis, our safe point. It was there, under the thick canopy of the Oasis, where the winds were but a mere puff of anger, that I saw them – dogs huddling, tails between their legs. This was no day for Barker’s Bakery treats or Husky’s Hotcakes, I’ll tell you.

The sky had turned a dogged shade of doom, growling like a disgruntled Rottweiler. I felt the fear, even in my usually brave bones. Cisco, a young beagle with a penchant for adventure (and stuffed ducks), whimpered beside me, “Cowboy, what do we do?”

My heart thumped against my rib cage. I didn’t want to show it, but I was scared. We English Bulldog mixes tend to struggle with being airborne. But somebody had to take the leash. I took a deep breath, “Stay close, and whatever you do, don’t chase the flying toys. Those are tricks, Cisco. Dangerous, spinning, tricks.”

It was then, at that moment of reckoning, a duo of puppucino scents whisked by, no doubt from Bark-n-Bite Bistro. And dang it if that doesn’t make me salivate at the worst of times. But no, Cowboy. Focus.

I gathered the pack. “Alright, everyone, huddle under this overhang!” My voice, surprisingly, carried authority. Juicy Butt nodded his approval, and the once fearful faces now turned to me with a rallying spirit.

We moved as one, tackling the winds that dared to nip at our heels, defying the Petnado’s misleading allure. I saw a carrot fly by–gross–easy to dodge. But then, the ultimate test – a cheesy roll-up spiraled toward us.

I could almost taste the tease of cheese, yet I remembered my disdain for baths. And if I got swept up? Oh, it would be bath time for sure. I stiffened my stance, defiant. My friends took notice, and they too held their ground, because that’s what we do in Pawsburgh, we stand together, paws planted firmly on the earth.

The Petnado hovered like a bully, but perhaps it noticed something uniquely Pawsburghian about our resolve, for suddenly, the whirlwind whimpered, wobbled, and whisked away as abruptly as it came, leaving behind a rain of toys and treats. We cheered, barked, and even Juicy Butt did a little jig.

Looking around, I saw the community of furry faces, grateful and giddy. Today was a day they’d tell their humans about through excitable yaps and energetic spins. And as the sun peeked out shyly, warming our damp fur, I curled up among the fallen plushies – my lamb chops – and indulged in a victorious sunbathe. It had been a tail-wagging day of disaster, but in Pawsburgh, even a Petnado couldn’t defeat the Watchful Companion known as Cowboy.

The End.