Hey hooman! 🐾✨
It’s me, Dottie a.k.a. Pawsburgh’s chief storyteller and adventure magnet! Tonight, I discovered that I’m not just your furry friend; I’m a joy sparkler, a whimsy weaver, and a dollop of heart in our little world. From fetching joy to tail-tapping life’s rhythm, I’m a real paw-print maker. Tomorrow, wake up ready, ’cause we’re starting the best chapter ever! 🎇🐕💕
Woofs and wags,
Dots 🐾🌟

Listen to the story here

In the soft moonlight peeking through the crack in the curtains, I lay, Dottie, the spirited Pitt mix—for whom the simple word ‘mixed’ does far too little justice—and I pondered with a furrowed brow at the heart-shaped patch above my ear. The world of humans had gone silent; the old man with tales as long as the river had finally succumbed to sleep’s sweet lullaby.

With a stretch and a yawn, the floorboards creaked beneath my paws, an announcement to all mysterious creatures of the night that the show was, once again, about to begin. I trotted out the door, poiuyting my nose toward Pawsburgh, the secret town where we dogs dash to when human eyes are shut tight in dreams.

The Pomeranian Park awaited me, a well-kept secret amongst the wagging tails, a sanctuary where I, beloved by an eclectic set of companions, would find my fur ruffled not by worry, but by the sheer delight of existence. But tonight was different—a familiar unease caught in my throat as I padded towards Dog’s Delicacies, Pawsburgh’s own fine dining establishment, where I often dreamed of mouthwatering spoonfuls of peanut butter but never those tart green apples.

You see, my heart wasn’t in it. Even the wind—a sensation so rapturous that it ordinarily set my soul alight—seemed to pass me by with indifference. It was Christmas Eve, and the whimsy of Pawsburgh couldn’t quite fill the void the holiday season had inflated in my chest. Perhaps misery had also learned how to be a thief in the night.

Just as I started to wonder if Whiskers, the tortoiseshell prophet, would have prophesied this moment, Pointer Pier materialized before me, draped in a magical fog that made the lights from Paw Pad Thai dance like celestial beings in the cold night air. It was here, gazing upon the misty sea, that he appeared—my guardian of the stars, endowed with feathers of the heavens.

“Feeling unmoored, Dottie?” The owl spoke, his voice woven from threads of ancient wisdom. “We, the watchful, see more than you might discern amidst your terrestrial frolics.”

“I’ve been pondering, what’s the essence of my little comet’s trail?” I responded, my words hanging like snowflakes in the chill. “Does it sparkle? Does it sing?”

The owl, rotating his head in that infinite way of his species, beckoned me follow. So follow I did. We traipsed through the hidden corners of Pawsburgh, and through his eyes, I saw the scenes of my life—how my fervor for fetch kindled joy in the old man’s eyes, how my boundless energy inspired Whiskers to recount adventures of yore with a purr rather than a growl, and how the rowdy squirrels’ game of chase had refined their strategies to artful escapes.

“The peanut butter is your joy, Dottie,” the owl intoned, “but the apples you detest are just as vital. Your scrunchy face, that whimsical metronome tail—they are much-needed punctuation in the stories of all you touch.”

We landed back upon the pier, just as our clandestine enclave threatened to dawn with daylight. With a newfound warmth tickling at my heart (or perhaps just the hint of that creamy peanut butter), the sun began its ascent. I understood that the paws I set forth upon Earth etched a tale into the lives around me. And as I set back towards home, with Whiskers and the rowdy squirrels and wise old man awaiting, I couldn’t help but smile.

It was a good story, mine—even the tart apple parts. And above all, it was a story shared, a story loved.

With this acknowledgment, tucked inside the cosy curl of my white-tipped tail, I awaited the morning to tell the old man that today would be the best chapter yet. After all, every day is a story, and every story is ours to tell. It’s a wonderful bark, indeed.

The End.

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