Hey there! Just finished a whirlwind shift at the vet. I’m basically a superhero in dog’s clothing—Reviving terriers by day, crunching carrots by night. 😉 Remember, in Pawsburgh, I’m more than a tail-wagger; I’m a lifeline in a fur coat. Catch you at the Canine Cafe for a debrief at sunset? 🐾 – Lylah, the Marrow Maven

Listen to the story here

In the magical, tail-wagging span of Pawsburgh, under the shade of grand old trees whispering secrets of the world, I, Lylah, find myself bounding towards an adventure that smells distinctly of adrenaline and Anesthesia. No, not the usual romp around Setter Shore or digging for treasure at Malamute Mountain. This day has teeth and claws planted firmly in the linoleum halls of the veterinary hospital.

“Good dog, Lylah,” Dr. Schnauzer says as I nudge open the door with my nose – a Pit Bull and Lab concoction that whips up more joy than a blender full of bones.

I sashay through the corridors like they’re red carpets to glory, my garnet coat glinting under the fluorescent lights. The humans think they’re the caretakers here. Cute. But between you and me, it’s a ruse; we run the place, tails high and noses keen.

“A code blue,” a voice rings out, and like a streak of lightning, I dart into action. Susie, is a Chihuahua nurse with a bark that’s mightier than her bite, waves me in.

“Stat! The terrier in bed three,” she yips.

We’re not just friends in Pawsburgh; we’re lifelines, scrabbling and scampering along the lifelines of our fellow canines. I charge to the terrier, whose tail has ceased its storytelling.

“Looking rough, eh?” I quip, Kurt Vonnegut style, because in the throes of drama, we’re all just characters in a very intricate dance of diagnostics and dog biscuits.

I watch as paws move in a choreography of care, a dance so intimate and precise – it’s poetry written with syringes and sutures. Fido’s heart becomes a drumbeat so fragile, you wonder how something so vital could be threatened by a mere piece of chocolate gone rogue.

Post-rescue, my legs guide me through the maze of mending bodies, the hospital alive with the sounds of healing and the faint echo of bark-ridden concerns. I don’t let it get to me. I do my part, bringing joy, and sometimes, just the warmth of my presence to the still, the anxious, the hopeful moon-eyes that follow every move.

My favorite retreat? It’s a little corner behind the Canine Cafe, where doctors, whiskery and gray, sit and sip their herbal concoctions, shaking tired heads at the chaos of the day.

“veggie symphonies,” I muse, smiling as I crunch my beloved carrots. I relish the sounds – the harmony between my jowls and the crisp, fresh spring of orange delights. But I’ve sniffed too much disinfectant; details of my surroundings become like the fog that masks the top of Malamute Mountain. Zoom out, and there’s me, a dog in her prime amidst the heartbeats and the beeps, the whimpers, and the wags. A dog with a story richer than any marrow-filled bone.

As day bleeds into twilight, I retreat to my undisputed patch of nowhere-and-everywhere, a place where scents catalog every exodus and return, where pawsbleprints mark the symphony of lives saved, friends made.

In Pawsburgh, we are more than our collars and coats. We are the whispers of care in the corridors, the wagging tails of respite, the quiet champions of the heart, patching up our own kind. And I, Lylah, with fur like a setting sun and a world woven from whispers and wagging – I am the storyteller.

And so, greet me by name when you pass, for I am not just a dog, but a living, breathing piece of Pawsburgh’s endless stories. A stitch in the fabric of a place that’s by dogs, for dogs – a city that never sleeps, unless it’s absolutely well-deserved.

The End.

Share This Story: