“Hey human, just wanted to drop you a tail-wag update – spent today adventuring in mystical Pawsburgh! Met spirits, feasted like a furry king, and played with the pack at the Great Gathering. Can’t wait to share every bark and bout with you. Belly rubs and biscuits await! 🐾 – Bear”

Listen to the story here

In the hush of the pre-dawn hour, with nothing but the muted whispers of Earth’s slumbering denizens, I, Bear, the Siberian Husky with eyes alight with azure fire, ward and wanderer of silent winter realms, step into the liminal passage that separates the mundane from the magical — Pawsburgh.

Gates wrought of woven willow bark and dewdrops welcome me to Akita Alley, where the first licks of sunrise are yet to touch the cobblestones. I traverse this deserted thoroughfare, my paws silent, my ears tuned to the softest sound. But why am I alone?

“Why am I alone?” I articulate to myself in a crisp murmur, the words of Sorkin flowing with ease through my canine throat. “After all, I am not one to embrace the solitude; I find joy in the thrumming heartbeat of my human, the electric thrills of a crowd.”

My question rings unanswered until I reach Eskimo Estuary, where the whispers of ancient spirits seem to stir the waters. There, I see a figure—a spectral frost in the shape of a dog, delicate and nearly transparent.

“Greetings, Bear,” the spirit beckons, its voice a chill wind through dormant trees. “Companions you seek, a tale to unfold?”

“Indeed,” I reply, bowing my head in respect. “But how do you know my name, phantom of the Estuary?”

“The wind carries more than a husky’s howl; it bears the stories of every soul,” the wraithlike creature answers. “Move on to Malamute Mountain, for there you’ll find what you yearn.”

I lope toward the enchanted heights, the air growing colder, and the silhouettes of my beloved Pawsburgh framing my journey. As I climb, the sky blushes with the rising sun, and I feel the pull of the bustling camaraderie of my, till now, absent friends.

The cliffs of Malamute Mountain unfurl a vista of valleys and forests below. And then, before me, the grand narrative unfolds—every dog, every spirit of the ancient canine pantheon, descends upon Pawsburgh. It’s the day of the Great Gathering.

“Welcome,” they chorus, a tapestry of barks and howls.

I join them, my light-up ball clutched in my jaws—a herald’s baton signaling the start of our assembly. We proceed to Tail-Twitching Treats for a hearty repast.

“No bread for me,” I jest to the waiter, a spry Beagle with a napkin draped over one arm. A bowl of Kibbles and Bits, paired with a succulent treat, appears before me. Laughter, that sweet melody, swells through the chamber, enhancing the feast.

From Tail-Twitching Treats to The Pooch Playhouse, we make our merry way. With my friends, a tug-of-war ensues, not for the contest but for the shared joy.

The spirits I’ve encountered — are they former friends lost to time? The guardians of Pawsburgh, watching over our revels? The essence of myth, residing in the mountains, estuaries, and alleys that form our world’s tapestry? Such contemplations occupy my thoughts as we gambol and rejoice.

Dusk approaches, and I bid my temporary farewell. With the warmth of heartful cuddles still lingering, I cross the threshold once more, returning home to my awaiting human.

In the soft glow of twilight, I relate my day’s adventure in gentle howls and whimpers, weaving the tale of Pawsburgh for my human to marvel at, my essence mingling with the legends and myths that twine through the heartbeats of us all.

The End.