Hey Mom,

Just saved Pawsburgh from a tail-spin of an earthquake with my fur squad! Turns out we doggos dug up an ancient bone causing the ruckus. Call me Indiana Bones or just your ordinary hero. More tail wags to tell over meatloaf!

Licks and wags,
Bandito 🐾🦴

Listen to the story here

When you wake up to a bone-shaking rumble in the domiciles of Pawsburgh, you become alert faster than humans snapping to the aroma of coffee. At least, that’s what I experienced on a brisk Tuesday morning, or something like that—time quite eludes us canines, doesn’t it?

I’m Bandit, by the by, your reputedly dashing narrator with a penchant for plush squeakies and existential daydreams involving meadows and the grand why of chasing one’s tail. Perhaps you’ve seen me gallivanting through Jade Jack Russell Junction with my eyes spirited and my tongue lolling in the jubilance of absolute freedom.

On this particular morning, the ground beneath the distinguished city of Pawsburgh began a comedic jig, prompting thoughts on whether the squirrels had finally orchestrated their seismic uprising. I suppose we were all a bit shaken—literally and metaphorically—but that’s where the thread of adventure begins to weave its crafty pattern.

Various establishments, including the trendy Canine Couture Clothing, trembled while tailored hats and canine cummerbunds cascaded from the shelves. This seismic tango hadn’t been forecast in the Pawsburgh Post’s Horrorscope, helmed by none other than Madame Fifi the Fortune-Telling Frenchie. Naturally, this disaster was unscheduled, inconvenient, and utterly thrilling.

Assessing the magnitude of this quagmire, I rallied my faithful friends—a delightfully snobbish Schnauzer and a bumbling Basset, both of whom boasted tastes finer than gourmet kibbles from the renowned Collie’s Cuisine. We were the unofficial task force of our fair dogopolis, and this earthquake (as the humans would laboriously spell it out) was our current conundrum.

Amidst the turmoil, my quartet, or shall we say, a trio plus one, found ourselves capering toward Harrier Harbor, where the gulls squawked in distress and the boats bobbed like apples in a tub—a festival game Pawsburgh’s pups are quite fond of, as apple bobbing is rather an unsung canine art.

Our baseball-sized canine brains couldn’t fathom much, but we progressed with a steadfast mien that projected a sense of purpose. And isn’t that life itself—canines marching steadfastly with enough purpose to convince the world that we’re onto something grand?

We were indeed onto something, it turned out. As Jeeves, the aforementioned Schnauzer whose formal name belied his ability to emit gleefully slobbery barks, pointed out a fissure in the earth from whence the chaos seemed to emerge. Legends told of an ancient bone buried beneath Pawsburgh, a relic rumored to either bring great fortune or great distress. Today’s predicament fell decidedly in the latter category.

Summoning the camaraderie unique to dogs who’ve sniffed each other in greeting, we launched into a salvo of digs, befitting construction workers ahead of their union-mandated break. Clods of dirt flew in a spectacle, each paw thrust a testament to our resolve.

The gnawing notion of adversity had a gripping effect, comparable perhaps to the moment a squeak toy finally yields to relentless gumming—a victory laced with an existential question: what now?

As we closed in, rescue teams from Setter Shore arrived, each dog adorned with little life vests—adorable yet serious and wholly prepared to salvage any semblance of normalcy. United, we unearthed the mythical bone, and though its powers remain unproven, the collective “arf” that reverberated through the air signaled a unity indomitable even by the tremors of the earth.

In the aftermath, as we gathered at Pup’s Parfait for a treat (yes, I conceded to caninity there), we basked in the quietness that followed the pandemonium, resting in the nooks of our stories. Each dog with a tale wagging behind them, bold, like the checkerboard shadows that dance across my own fur, enriching the binary of life. After all, isn’t the contrast between disaster and the mundane where the most colorful stories are unleashed? And there we sat, a ragtag crew in monochrome, no less vibrant, coloring our world one bark at a time.

The End.