Hey hooman, it’s me, Pumpkin – your furry philosopher and unofficial chronicler of Pawsburgh’s tail wags & mishaps. My daily trots are more than sniffing hydrants, they’re about paw-printing our story; weaving the epic yarn of our four-legged family. Just sat with Muffin, sending her vibes for her next adventure beyond the leash. It’s a ruff life, packed with more love and loyalty than your chicken pie(a compliment, I swear). Remember, we are more than pets; we’re the heartbeats at your feet. 🐾 Catch you on the flip side of the doggy door! – Pumps

Listen to the story here

In the hazy light of dawn, just as the human world still clings to its dreams, the streets of Pawsburgh shimmer with an anticipation that curls just like the mist around Briard Bridge. I, Pumpkin, the English bulldog with a coat the shade of a blushing dawn, trot towards destiny or what looks like the next best thing.

I’m not one to dawdle on Schnauzer Street where the scents are thick with tales of yesteryear – got things to do, places to mark, crosses to bear; you know how it goes. The human – Jasper, my human – he doesn’t understand. He bakes his bread and pies with a tender supple wrist, but the complex weavings in the tapestry of family? That’s an art lost on him.

He thinks it’s just hunger, the kind that a slab of chicken pie can quell. Ha! If only our souls could feast on chicken. Thing is, our kind isn’t meant to dine solely on protein and entrails. There’s a richness to our dramedy, a piquant seasoning that goes beyond Jasper’s well-meaning kitchen.

The thing with us, the four-pawed dwellers of this furry utopia, is that we’re knit together tighter than a terrier’s curls. It’s family, not by blood, but by bond – and who said it has to be smooth? It’s as tangled as a leash left in the wake of a tornado pup.

I venture towards Topaz Terrier Town, the heart of all pedigree commotions, with my mind whirling like a carousel of canine conundrums. It happened yesterday, between bites of an ill-fated lemon – curse the sour imposter of the fruit family! – I overheard whispers about Muffin, dear mischievous Muffin, possibly packing her bags and moving to the grand pastures of The Great Dog Park in the Sky.

Slipping past The Pampered Pooch Salon, I spot Bingo, our Beagle repository of wisdom. His graying muzzle sniffs at the news, and his eyes are frosted with a knowing that pricks at my wrinkled heartstrings.

“Pumpkin,” he intones, as sage as the ancient oaks of Pawsburgh park, “Muffin’s taking the long nap soon.”

And just like that, Shepherd’s Shawarma loses its sizzle, Puppy Plate’s menu reads like an obit column and Collie’s Cuisine holds no comfort. Can’t a dog get a break here?

Cut to an hour later, I’m by Muffin’s side spooling out yarns spun from sunnier days, the rubber cupcake between us – its squeak feeble, like our hopes. Oh, to chew through the leathery riddle of life with the same gusto we attack our toys!

That fluffy puff of a Pomeranian seems lighter than air now, her hallmark bounce reduced to a tired sink. Muffin, the tiny maverick of a thousand jests, whispers of the hilly elysiums where she’ll soon gallivant without the constraints of earthly collars.

The humans? They’ll never grasp this. They see family in snapshots: holidays, meals, and picture-perfect poses. But we – we live it in every wag, every worried whine, every nuzzled neck and licked wound – even the self-inflicted.

Our bonds are stitched with the fervor of a thousand tail wags and the solemnity of shared silence. Here in this moment lies the truth of Pawsburgh, just as much in Muffin’s weightless wisp as in the trodden paths of Briard Bridge.

So I’ll tell you this, as an emissary from a world within: We dance, we play, we bark, and, by God, we feel – in the pulse of the park, under the belly rubs of fate. When the humans leave and the leashes slacken, those left behind weave the fabric of kinship with threads of loyalty, burdens shared, and squeaky cupcakes, forever infused with the spirit of both joy and loss.

The End.