Hey hooman sidekick! 🌹 Just aced my role as Pawsburgh’s sassiest fashionista & existential philosopher. Nailed the Dog Drama at Fetch Fiasco (Bowser’s tail will go down in history). Suki’s still a diva, and I’ve got a chic new scarf. Be ready for more tales (& tails) of our furry utopia! Cuddles & chaos await! 🐾😎 – Rosy Posey

Listen to the story here

Life as Rose, the teacup Pomeranian Papillon, isn’t all belly rubs and bacon strips. Today, for example, I woke up in the most unceremonious fashion, with the sun mocking me by hiding behind a cloud, refusing to warm my usual spot on the living room carpet.

I did my half-hearted morning stretches, the kind that said, “I’m doing this for you, Body, but I’m not going to pretend to enjoy it,” before I made my dramatic escape through the flap in the back door. Whisking away to Pawsburgh, the clandestine utopia where the worries of my human owners melted away like the inferior brand of peanut butter they keep trying to give me.

Upon my grand entrance to Vizsla Valley, I immediately spotted Bruno, the bulldog. He sat as still as a statue, probably contemplating the meaning of fetch. “Seriously, Bruno? It’s just throwing and retrieving a ball. Not that deep,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes.

Bruno just snorted, which in bulldog language could mean anything from “Your sarcasm isn’t appreciated” to “I may have swallowed my own tongue.”

Suki, the surly Siamese, flicked her tail at me from a nearby fence, her eyes conveying a mix of disdain and a secret longing for my company. “Hey, Suki, care to join us on a jaunt to Diamond Doberman Dunes?” I chirped with a sly grin, tail held at my signature saucy angle.

Her reply was as predictable as it was droll, “I think I’d rather have a furball, Rose.”

Ignoring her typical melodrama, I turned on my petite paws, darting toward Mastiff Meadows, where the real action was stirring—a Dog Drama, the Pawsburgh kind that drew in every canine with a scent for the sensational.

Mastiff Meadows was in chaos. Yup, at the annual Fetch Fiasco, an event rivaling Greek tragedies, poor Bowser Beagle had his eye on the prize only to… wait for it… mistake his own tail for the stick and spend half an hour chasing it in circles. “He wants to move to Pawsburgh?!” I gasped. “But this is Pawsburgh!”

Pawsburgh puparazzi swarmed the scene. I contemplated the existential crisis that unfolded: a dog chasing his tail, chasing a dream, in a town where dogs chase freedom. If this wasn’t the meat of canine drama, I didn’t know what was.

After the excitement ebbed, I and my posse decided to drown our existential dread with food. Dog’s Delicacies was passé, and Bark-n-Bite Bistro felt too bourgeoisie. It was Pup’s Poutine that called to us with its siren song of gravy-slathered goodness.

As the scents encircled us, Suki appeared, now softly purring, “Got any chicken-flavored delights?” Of course, the answer was an eye roll worthy of the most dramatic soap opera actress, “Suki, darling, you’d eat the whole place if we let you.”

We concluded our adventures with a visit to The Wagging Tail Bookstore. I chewed contemplatively on the corner of “The Art of Racing in Rain puddles” while pondering life’s big questions.

Finally, we strutted into Canine Couture Clothing, which was the equivalent of heaven for a furry fashionista like me. I left with a new scarf, befitting of my auburn mane, and the knowledge that no matter what chaos unfolds in Pawsburgh or on Earth, one thing remained blissfully constant:

I would always have my precious Mr. Squeaks waiting for me, along with my beloved morning sun puddle.

And with that, another day drew to a close. Suki spat out the last bit of her pretend disdain with a meek “See you tomorrow?” Already looking forward to my next extraordinary ordinary day as Rose, I sashayed home to my awaiting humans, each step an elegant dance on the vast, velvety cosmos that is my life.

The End.

Share This Story: