Hey hooman 🐾,

Just your friendly neighborhood Coco here, reporting in from Pawsburgh after a morning adventure. Caught up in the tail-wagging intrigue of Duke’s ambition for the ‘Seat of Barkness’ – think Game of Bones but fluffier. Don’t worry though, I’ve kept my snout clean amid the canine coups, and by the time you’re brewing your coffee, I’ll have resumed my role as your loyal, laid-back Lab. PS: May or may not have had a peanut butter party at Dog’s Delicacies… What’s life without a little mystery and gourmet treats, right?

Stay pawesome 😏🐕,
👑 Coco

Listen to the story here

It’s one of those mornings in Pawsburgh where the dew still clings to the blades of Golden Retriever Grass in the rich green acres that span beyond my yard. The air, fragrant with the lingering scent of a thousand flowers, whispers the promise of melodrama and the occasional overturned trash can. Here I am, Coco, a lady of certain years and glossy ebony coat—a fur coat that requires no dry cleaning, mind you.

As I paw my way towards Sapphire Schnauzer Street, I can’t help but notice how the cobblestones shimmer with a sapphire glow, as if winking at me knowingly. They’ve seen enough paw traffic to write an epic of their own. Each stone could probably narrate a tale of valor or scandal, though today they remain respectfully silent, save for the echo of my own trot.

Max and Millie, the inseparable terrier twins, prance around me, their energy as infectious as canine influenza but far more welcome. They are itching to spin me a yarn about Duke’s latest bid to lay claim to Pawsburgh. Honestly, his ambitions are as outsized as his jowls.

“I tell you, Coco, he’s marshaling forces at Briard Bridge as we speak,” Max yaps, doing that thing with his ear, the one that suggests urgency or maybe just an unresolved itch.

“Can you imagine, Duke, atop the ‘Seat of Barkness’?” Millie giggles, clearly amused by the mental image. I can’t help but wiggle my tail in agreement. If only the humans could see their dignified Saint Bernard now, plotting sweet, furry coups under the glow of the Dog Star.

I play it cool, like always. No need to raise their terrier hackles with my naturally calm, Lab-ish disposition. “Well, let’s hope he’s stocked up on treats and chew toys for his allies. Or is he planning to fortify his hold with promises of extra walkies?” I muse, breezing past The Pawsome Pet Pharmacy, whose kaleidoscopic array of doggie vitamins and potions never looked so appealing. I mean, perhaps I’d stop by later for a bit of fish oil. It does wonders for the joints, you know.

Our paws hush as we near Dog’s Delicacies, the smell of freshly baked liver treats practically transporting us to seventh heaven. I’d never admit this out loud, but I’ve had more than a few culinary orgies in that place, indulging in peanut butter delicacies that would make my humans gasp with horror. Oh, to be a dog with simple pleasures! If an errant slice of orange were to appear, however, the mood would be promptly slaughtered. The very thought wrinkles my snout.

It’s by the time we reach Wagging Whisk that I spot Duke in the distance, his lumbering form casting an imposing shadow that stretches out like a prophecy across Eskimo Estuary. Max and Millie guffaw, their laughter echoing across the estuary, completely unaware of the subtlety required in matters of espionage and diplomacy.

And there I stood, leaning on Briard Bridge, contemplating this furry imbroglio. Despite my glistening coat and spirited eyes, I play a most restrained game. I remember my cherished spot by the babbling brook, the willows and sunlight. They remind me of peace and innocence, a stark contrast to this undercurrent of power play. But play, we must.

I saunter back home, the plots of Pawsburgh trailing behind me like a shadow. But rest easy—by the time my guardians wake, Coco will have returned to her demure labrador ways, leaving no trace of the pet throne games. Except, perhaps, a rogue peanut butter scent and an air of regal mystery.

The End.