Hey there, it’s Clyde! Woof! 😎 Just a quick paw to let ya know, I’ve transformed from a neighborhood Cocker Spaniel into Pawsburgh’s most legendary adventurer. My buds and I conquered a journey that’ll have all the tails in town wagging for ages. Found more than bones this time—unearthed a treasure called friendship and a view at Pyrenean Peak that’d make even the moon jealous. Catch ya for walkies to share the tail-tales? 🐾🌕 #AlphaAdventurer

Listen to the story here

In the heart of Pawsburgh, where the bones are buried deep and every snout has a story, I found myself yawning at the edge of another seemingly mundane day. But oh, not this day. This day promised a wild wag of an adventure that would get tongues lapping all across town.

Ah, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. My name is Clyde, and if you’ve been around these parts, you’ve likely seen me—a Cocker Spaniel whose ears sweep the ground with the grace of a broomstick wearing a tutu.

It started with the usual morning kerfuffle; my ears went for a dive in the water bowl, eliciting a snort and a snicker from yours truly. Then a familiar scent wafted through the air—those juicy chunks of watermelon Sarah left out—a feast for a king, I’d say. But, alas, the call of Pawsburgh was stronger than the siren song of fruit, for word on the street was that Shar-Pei Shores held more than just sand and sun.

Max, the Boxer, practically a hurricane with paws, had been bugging me about a road trip to the Shores, and today felt ripe for such an escapade. I snuck out with a clatter barely heard over Sarah’s snores, my paws a pitter-patter of anticipation.

We met by the Pawfect Pastries, Max panting heavily as if he’d already run the whole journey, and Bella, the aged Beagle with the sniff of a bloodhound, tailing behind. “Shar-Pei Shores by lunch, Onyx Otterhound Oasis by teatime, and… if we’ve the guts… the legendary Pyrenean Peak by moonrise,” Max boomed, drawing a map in the dirt with his paw.

“Slow down, captain,” I chuckled, “we might just find a buried treasure with that plan.” At the mention of treasure, the sparkle in our eyes reflected our matching grins, and off we trotted, our fellowship of furry questers, each step a drumbeat towards glory.

The Shore greeted us with a salty kiss, but our sandy bliss was merely a prologue to the trials ahead. Bella, the navigator, promised the Oasis a hop, skip, and a jump away, but clearly, she’d miscalculated the ‘hop’ part. I, ever the optimist, urged our motley crew on, inspired by the promise of Shepherd’s Shawarma that awaited us—if we made it in one piece.

Our belly’s growl echoed louder than Max’s war cries as we encountered the labyrinthine passages of Pawsburgh’s outskirts, each path leading to the next like a dance of indecision. Would we make it? Of course, we would—it’s not an adventure ’til there’s a chance of turning into a shaggy story that ends with ‘and they were never seen again’.

Why, then, did the Oasis appear as a mirage to thirsty travelers? A trick of the light? Or the payoff to a joke where the punchline was sweat and more sweat? Max suggested a sprint; Bella barked for a break; I, Clyde, with my mischief-filled eyes, found the middle ground by promising the legend of Pyrenean Peak was sweeter than any oasis.

“You’re having us on,” Max gasped, legs sprawled like the branches of a defeated oak.

But onward I pressed, serenaded by the siren song of adventure, pulling my companions towards the mythic Peak. And what awaited us there, under the glow of the Pawsburgh moon?

A view that stretched beyond every fetch I’d chased, every ball I’d caught. And right then, sprawled on the grassy crown of the Peak, Max, Bella, and I became legend.

They say the journey is greater than the destination. For us, each boundless step, each tail-wagging tale of our road trip across Pawsburgh, indeed stitched a narrative into the fabric of this dog’s life—a story to chew on until the end of our days.

The End.