Hey human,

Just trotted through the epilogue of my tail. Spoiler: I’m more than just a pretty coat now. Fluffernutter and I turned barks into sparks and turned out, we’re quite the pair – braving the sniff-worthy twists of Pawsburgh, side by snaggletoothed side. Thanks to my charm and a shared hatred for lemons, I’m not chasing my tail alone anymore. Here’s to finding love that’s got more layers than a pup’s favorite chew toy. 🐾

Catch ya at the fire hydrant,
Sir Duncan “Frosted Fido” Donut

Listen to the story here

In the beguiling town of Pawsburgh, where dreams wag their tails and every fire hydrant tells a story, I, Sir Duncan Donut, am an auspiciously furry bachelor of the four-legged variety. My coat, a stunning ivory, is often likened to the delicately frosted confections which share my name. It is here, in this whimsical doggy haven, where tales of romps and frolics are more plentiful than fleas on a stray’s back, that my heart found itself inexplicably intertwined in a tail-wagging romance.

I remember the day as if it were yesterday. The sun rose like a golden retriever, bright and fetching, casting a glow over Dachshund Dale that made the dew-dappled grass twinkle like a chandelier in a baker’s window. I trotted, my usual jaunty clip, to Barking Brunch, the sort of joint that served a splendid array of gastronomic delights tailored to the canine palate. I, accustomed to the finer tastes, settled for nothing less than the savory liver treat platter, a signature dish that made my taste buds dance like a poodle in a tutu.

It was as I indulged in the culinary masterpiece before me that she pranced in—Fluffernutter, the Bichon Frise. Her fur bore the fluffiness of a thousand pillows and eyes that sparkled brighter than the gleam of a freshly licked food bowl. She was like no other, her dainty paws barely touching the earth as she aimed for Bulldog’s BBQ, undoubtedly on account of the ribs that tantalized even the most prudish of noses.

Her snaggletooth smile was disarmingly bewitching, eliciting a warmth within me that not even my human’s oven-fresh danishes could rival. Remembering my ears were erect and at attention, I leaped to my paws and gallantly approached, my heart thumping like a tail on a hardwood floor.

“Dear Fluffernutter,” I began. “A pawleasure to make your acquaintance. May I piquesuade you with a visit to Best in Show Photography? A portrait of your splendid self would outshine any masterpiece in the Louvre, I’m convinced!”

She giggled a giggle that melted even the toughest marrow from the bone and replied, “Sir Duncan, I dare say, your charm is almost as rife as your appetite. Lead the way.”

What transpired next can only be described as a frolic through badinage and endearment. Hand in paw, we sauntered down to Newfoundland Nook, where the air carried whispers of adventures of times past, and the laughter of our kin echoed through the waves of Garnet Greyhound Grove.

As the day waned and our intimate stroll concluded on the banks of a babbling brook, the joy of companionship lent our spirits to flight. Fluffernutter’s disdain for citrus mirrored my own, and our shared ardor for chasing the elusive squiggle that is one’s tail united us in a camaraderie that seemed predestined.

“Pardon my forwardness, but you’ve stolen more than that hotdog just now,” I said, glancing at the purloined treat in her mouth.

Her snicker served as a delicious treat to my ears, and it became ever clear that the dog days of single life had reached a fetching conclusion. Despite our differences, in the sunny avenues of Pawsburgh where mutts and pedigrees transcend pedigree, comedy had indeed paved the way for romance.

And so, under a sky streaked with nature’s own marbling, our tale unfurled like a leash on a windy day. Would I have imagined it? Never. But as any good Pawsburgh denizen will tell you: expect the sniff-worthy, for here, every dog has its day and every romance its dog.

The End.

Share This Story: