Hey buddy! In case you’re wondering, I’m the alpha storyteller of this barkin’ tale. I lead the Bark and Bones on two wheels, sniff out trouble in Pawsburg, and smooth out ruff situations with style.

Just schooled some new mutts on the block and turned potential foes into friends over some steak and good ol’ doggy camaraderie. Pawsburg tales, you gotta love ’em!

Catch you at the fire hydrant, Vinny 😎🐾🏍️

Listen to the story here

Oh, hey there, you cool humans. I bet you’re panting with anticipation for the latest scoop from Pawsburg, the most happening place this side of the Milky Way when you’re a pooch with pizzazz. Well, strap in because your boy Vincent is about to take you on a wild ride.

Picture this: Eskimo Estuary, the sun dipping low in the sky, casting long shadows across the ripples of the water. That’s where the intrepid canines of the Bark and Bones biker club – of which I am, without a smidge of humility, the most dashing member – strut our stuff. Leather jackets? Check. Cool scars? Check. Hearts of gold? Double-check.

You don’t just sniff your way into Bark and Bones. No, you gotta have style, a certain je ne sais paw, and a fierce love for Pawsburg. It’s our little haven of tail-wagging freedom, but even in paradise, there’s the occasional cat – I mean, catastrophe – to deal with.

So there I was at Canine’s Cuisine, chowing down on my most favorite chicken thigh, when Whiskers, our feline informant with more lives than sense, dropped in with news: some mongrels were threatening our turf.

“Aunt Millie would flip her biscuits if she knew about this,” I muttered under my breath.

“You say something, Vincent?” Bruno grumbled, his jowly face all furrowed in concern.

“Only that there’s gonna be fur flying if these wannabes think they can mess with us,” I said, the rubber duck in my pocket squeaking as if in agreement.

When night fell, the atmosphere was electric, like the air before a thunderstorm – or when Aunt Millie’s oven timer dings. Our bikes roared through Basenji Bay, passing Blue Basenji Bay’s shimmering waters. I glanced over to Dandelion, waving her genteel feathers as we left. “Be back by breakfast!” she cooed, worry clipping her usual serene tone.

We arrived outside The Doggie Daycare where the unsavory scruffs nosed about. Tail high, I marched over – the gang close behind. “Listen, Lassie’s leftovers,” I barked. “Pawsburg is under our protection. So scamper off back to the pound.”

Their leader, a Rottweiler with a chewed ear, stepped forward. “And if we don’t?” he growled.

I smirked. “Well, that’ll be a tail for another day,” I winked.

It was tense as a leash pulled taut until Bruno laughed. That booming bark of his could warm hearts or chill bones. Today, it was all warmth.

“Looks like you pups could use a place to belong,” he said gruffly. “Why don’t you swing by Setter’s Steakhouse tomorrow? We’ll chew the fat – literally.”

The Rottweiler blinked. “You serious?”

“As serious as I am when I say I detest cucumbers,” I said, giving my best charismatic grin.

So, it was settled. Paws were shooks, and ruffs became buffed. Perhaps, beneath our furs and fears, we all sought the same thing – to be part of a pack.

In Spa for Paws, I later lounged, relishing being pampered like the royal terrier I am, thinking of how Aunt Millie would laugh hearing this tale. And so, my friends, here in Pawsburg, even on a day fraught with potential disaster, every dog has his day. And as for me? I just had mine.

The End.