Heya! It’s Nikko B. rockin’ the Pet Pageant stage with a ballad that had tails waggin’ and paws clappin’. From a spotlight serenade to chowin’ down at Pawprint Pizzeria, I served up a slice of harmony in Pawsburgh. Dreams are the fetch games we’re all playin’, and today, I caught mine. 🐾🎶 Catch ya on the furry flip side! – The Barkin’ Bard

Listen to the story here

Well, ain’t this particular morning in Pawsburgh a fine ‘un, I do declare. The sun’s up jest’ enough to tickle the rooftops and I, Nikko B., am up with it. Now, before I whisk you off on a tale of tails and tunes, let me acquaint ye with a world where whiskers twitch and noses are forever curious. Harrier Harbor’s waters shimmer to the hum of Weimaraner Woods, where leaves rustle secrets in the wind. Terrier Town’s bustle could give Broadway a run for its money, and in the midst of it all, I trod with a purpose only known to those with four legs and a tail.

This day, a curious spectacle was unfoldin’ down at Pooch Prep, the kind of hullabaloo that leads not only to barks but to songs as well. Stepping into the courtyard, I caught the melting pot of melodies from the auditions for the grand event: the annual Pawsburgh Pet Pageant. Ya see, this year, they decided to throw in a twist, mixin’ up the regular paw-stomping show with some musical flairs—a regular Pet School Musical, if I may.

I found a familiar snout peekin’ from behind the stage curtains. “If it isn’t little Scruff McGruff,” I hailed with a smile, meetin’ eyes with the terrier whose yap could make the mailman’s knees knock.

“Nikko B., as I live and howl!” Scruff replied with a skip. “Goin’ to show this pageant your bark has got a tune?”

“And a rhythm to boot,” I assured, my tail swishing out the cadence.

The backstage was abuzz, the air filled with notes warmer than a hound dog’s belly in the midday Sun. The talent ranged from Lucy, the beagle whose howl could bend notes like a willow in the breeze, to Buster, the Bloodhound, whose droopy eyes concealed a mean jazz piano paw.

I was slotted to go fifth, a placement that had me feel as snug as a pup in his mamma’s nest. Before I could take a moment to ponder on whether the folks would fancy the verses I was about to spit, I was ushered to the front by a courteous but firm Saint Bernard stage manager.

Then there I was, the spotlight holdin’ me like a catcher’s mitt holdin’ a fastball. My heart afluttering like the wings of a caged canary, I launched into my ballad, “The Ball’s in My Court”. Lyrics floated like dandelion spores, carried by the wind of the room’s delight:

🎵 “Across the field, I do cavort,
In Toledo’s sun, I hold the fort,
With the chew toy of my sport,
Let me declare, the ball’s in my court!” 🎵

To my relief, not a single citrus note to be had in the melody. The crowd was rollin’ in tune with me, paws a-tappin’ and tails a-waggin’. It was a sight to behold and a siren call for a culinary celebration afterward.

Now, every good show deserves a good feast, and this one led us straight to Pawprint Pizzeria. Mesmerizin’ smells wafted through, with toppings that’d have any dog lickin’ their chops. A bite into savory goodness, and I was reminded of grilled chicken back in Toledo – but the pizza? Well, it was something else; somethin’ only found in the heart of Pawsburgh.

We shared tales, some taller than the tales themselves, loungin’ in the glow of what can only be described as unity: A symphony of paws and all.

The day was spendin’, the shadows lengthenin’, and just like that, the pageant became yesterday’s news. With friends like these, adventures never cease, and songs? Well, they’re just howls tuned to happiness.

So, as I lay my head down under the candy cotton skies of Pawsburgh, I muse to meself, “Nikko B., that ain’t half bad for a day’s work.” And with a bark and a yawn, I close my eyes to a world that’s ours alone.

The End.