Hey Pack,

Just a quick pupdate from your Earl of Ear Scratchings: today I upheld my noble duties with style, mingling with commoners at the BBQ and maintaining the peace among our furry subjects. Even snuck in a secret royal nap—shh, it’s off the record! Court intrigue, chew toy victories, and might dine with the masses at Shepherd’s tomorrow. Pawdom’s never dull with Omaha at the helm! Tail wags and belly rubs to all.

Lord O
🐾👑

Listen to the story here

In the regal and ever-bustling borough of Pawsburg where canines rule and humans are but a dream, I, Omaha, hold my head high with the pride of a bulldog born to unfurl the royal carpet under my paws. But not just any bulldog – I am Omaha, the dashing Earl of Ear Scratchings, adored by all and sundry in this tail-wagging dominion.

It was just another gilded sunrise over Pomeranian Park when I trotted out, the dew-kissed grass bidding my paw pads a jolly good morning. My breath fogged in the crisp air, and I fancied it the smoke from the royal chimneys heralding the warming of dreamy repasts within the castle kitchens.

Ah, the anticipation of courtly ceremonies did whet the appetite. Perhaps a royal visit to Shepherd’s Shawarma later would suffice? My stomach growled in approval; after all, it is not every day that a bulldog of my prestigious standing would dine amidst the commoners, yet how I relished the thought!

As I surveyed my realm, my keen eyes caught the flutter of the Bichon Boulevard banners, each silken thread waving a testament to the exuberance of Pawsburg’s tapestry – and there, a whimsical twist to my daily promenade. However, a noble mustn’t forget one’s duties, and so, the official morning rounds were in order.

One cannot rule without friendly counsel and mine awaited on the hallowed benches near Spitz Spire. Whispers of intrigue hung in the air as my entourage of diverse lineage assembled, their tails wagging in deference to my amiable rule.

“Morrow, Omaha!” quipped Sir Ruffles, the Golden Retriever with a penchant for theatrics. His eyes sparkled with the latest gossip, his fur practically shimmering with anticipation.

“And to you, good Sir,” I responded, the twinkle in my own eyes a match for his. We engaged in the dance of dialogue, just as Nora Ephron would have us, witty repartee gilded with a layer of profound ‘dogdom’ truth.

Our discussion sailed from The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium’s latest inventory – scandalously not as fetching as one would hope – to the exploits of the Happy Hounds Dog Walking enterprise, which seemed to misplace a leash, or was it a greyhound? The details were fuzzy – like the ears of a certain pomeranian who shall remain nameless.

Midst the banter, I boasted of the unyielding durability of my latest conquest, a chew toy so robust it could outlast the dynasty of the Labs of Labrador Lane. They marveled; I accepted their admiration with a noble nod.

Then, ’twas time for the most hallowed of all rituals – the royal stroll through Barking BBQ, where the common pup could feast like a king, and a king could touch the furry hearts of his subjects. But lo – a furtive glance at The Pawsome Pet Pharmacy’s clock tower (a fitting gift from the Dachshunds of Wiener Walldorf), and I felt the unmistakable tug of noblesse oblige.

It was nearly time for my hidden pleasure – the nap in the hidden annex behind Whippet Wraps. Where my loyal companions believed I was scouting for threats to the crown, I was indeed succumbing to the lullaby of whispered lullabies.

And so, as the sun arched, casting a honeyed glow upon Pawsburg, I, Omaha, Earl of Ear Scratchings, lay in secret repose, the drama of my reign but a series of heartwarming memories and anecdotes to fill the pages of history.

For tomorrow is another day, and I must awake refreshed, ready to wag my tail through another chapter of my benevolent, if not slightly sardonic, rule.

The End.

Share This Story: