Hey Mom & Dad 👋, Epic day in Pawsburgh! I vanquished my watery fear by commandeering an inflatable ring and becoming Captain Mya of the S.S. Buoyant Pride 🚣‍♀️. Aunt Bella served as my first mate, and even Misty couldn’t resist a peek at my triumph. I’m basically the aqua-adventurer of canine legends now. Let’s celebrate with a feast fit for a seafaring pup tonight! 🐾🎉

Your brave mariner,
Honey bunches of oats (aka Mya) 🐶💖

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It’s not that I hold grudges, per se. It’s just that some things can’t be left to lie as they fall – especially when what fell was my dignity. It was an ordinary Thursday in Pawsburgh, or so I thought as I left the earthly comfort of my adoring human, Melanie, and her fluffy hedgehog toys. I trotted with a purpose towards Eskimo Estuary, my muscles flexing with each bounce on the pavement.

I must pause here to inform you about the Estuary’s water – clear, crisp, and the general abhorrence of my soul. Why would a sizable, competent canine such as myself fear such a thing? The answer lies not in the water itself but the memory of my least triumphant moment.

Under the watchful gazes of my fellow furry inhabitants, I, Mya of American Pitbull Terrier descent, had slipped. Not just a dainty slide but a grand, opera-worthy tumble into the very wet, very public waters of Pawsburgh. My audience included Bella, my beagle aunt, who still teases me with water droplets when she gets the chance, and Misty, the chihuahua, who observed with barely concealed disdain.

So, I decided it was time for a smidge of revenge – but of the most cunning, spectacular kind.

Pawsburgh was abuzz as it always was, with Tail-Twitching Treats wafting delightful aromas into my nostrils. I resisted, for today was a day of schemes. I planned my campaign over a quick bite at Doggone Deli, munching thoughtlessly on a chewy tendon strip. The time for acton was neigh.

The conniving curtsey to karma involved none other than the Doggy Depot’s latest arrival: The Inflatable Flotation Ring. A clever subterfuge disguised as a fetching toy. It was preposterous, orange, and it would be my vessel for my aquatic charade. I purchased it with a wag of my tail, bartered within an inch of its worth in milk bone treats.

The stage was set, and the players, namely Aunt Bella, had gathered. I baited her into a game of fetch at Briard Bridge, a place known for its aesthetically pleasing view, which I had little care for under the circumstances. I threw the ring, she fetched – and then, the plot twist; I nimbly jumped onto the ring, just before she dragged it ashore.

“Bella,” I said with a confidence born of countless rehearsals, “this is my ship, and I am its captain.”

Her beagle eyes widened in surprise, possibly at my newfound hobby. But I noted a respect in those eyes, too, as she realized I had conquered my aquatic nemesis. Misty appeared silently by our side, her tiny frame quivering not from fear but, I believe, anticipation.

“You coming aboard?” I inquired, but she merely shook her head, taking her role as landlubber seriously.

For a moment, we bobbed there at the edge of the water, me, the once water-wary warrior turned floating admiral, and Bella, my faithful first mate and designated watermelon hater (I never forgave her for gifting me one on my birthday). We were castaways of convention on a voyage across the Estuary, champions of doggy do-right and avengers of pride.

The sun dipped low, casting a sheen on the water that I, boldly, no longer feared. Perhaps the larger-than-life delivery person could be the next to witness a reconciliation with my fears. But that’s a tale for another day.

As we made landfall, Pawsburgh awaited its Captain and crew, ready to inscribe yet another legend into the annals of midnight escapes of canine retribution. With my furry head held high, I padded home with a new bark in my step, ready to share the day’s tale with Melanie over a bowl of Blue diamond’s finest.

Ah, the sweet taste of revenge, with just a hint of beef and barley.

The End.

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