Hey there, just a quick tail wag to tell you that I, Ruby, have accidentally toppled the Pawsburg hierarchy and been crowned the unexpected ‘Queen of Pawsburg’ today, all thanks to a peanut butter pancake surprise. I’m now guarding the Bone of Baubles and learning the royal ropes. This pug’s life just got royally pawsome! 🐾😂 – Queen Marshmallow Pug

As I recall, it was a Tuesday, an unremarkable day poised on the cusp of morning and afternoon, when Pawsburg found itself in a tizzy over the loss of the Bone of Baubles – a gilded treasure said to confer upon its holder the regal title of ‘Top Dog’ in our hallowed grounds. Setting paw on the polished cobblestones of Schnauzer Street, if you could have seen me, a pug of some standing, I believe you’d have been struck by my quaint resemblance to a gently toasted marshmallow waddling through life with great enthusiasm.

The air held the promise of gossip; you could sniff it out between the bricks if you tried hard enough. Max, the gray-muzzled Labrador with a reputation for spinning yarns as well as chasing them, approached with a slow, dignified trot. Alongside him bounced Luna, the spaniel, her ears flapping with each leap, who conveyed news at the same velocity she chased squirrels.

“Ruby,” Max hailed in his gravelly, seasoned bark that always seemed perilously close to breaking into a cough-induced fit. “Have you heard? The Bone of Baubles has gone missing!”

“I had not,” I replied with a snort of surprise, an odd sound that seems to make humans smile in a way that suggests they’re privy to some secret of the universe that pugs, presumably, are not.

Luna, all bubble and effervescence, piped up, “And there are whispers Prince Poodle is behind it!”

“He would,” I snorted, my curled tail unfurling and re-coiling in a single motion. “Well, we must get to the bottom of this. To the Doberman Dunes!”

Upon the dunes, the sand shifted like the rumors that swirled around Prince Poodle’s perfectly preened paws. We searched high and low, much to the detriment of my autumn-leaf coat, now speckled with grains of effort. Drawing near to Pyrenean Peak, which towered over Pawsburg like a sentinel sworn to secrecy, we deemed it best to reconvene over sustenance.

Spaniel Spaghetti was a haunt that could lighten any dog’s heart with the aroma of meaty marinara, but we opted for the canine comforts of Barking Brunch, where the golden pancakes were rumored to be stacked as high as a Great Dane’s ambitions.

My dish was served, and lo and behold, what should I find beneath a drizzle of peanut butter but the Bone of Baubles, gleaming as if freshly plucked from the stars. The cafe fell silent, all eyes – diamond-sharp, amber-warm, coal-round – fixed upon me.

Max’s bark-boom of laughter startled a nearby pup into forsaking its biscuit. “Ruby, it seems you’re our new Top Dog!”

Luna twirled with delight as the patrons erupted into applause, their tails a synchronous metronome of approval. I sat there, stunned, the bone a heavy monarchy in my modest paws.

“Long live Queen Ruby,” they chanted, a decree that basked in the clean simplicity of truth. Luna nosed forward. “It’s by chance and cheese, but it suits you.”

And so, in a twist as unpredictable as a cat at a dog show, I assumed the crown that wasn’t really a crown, more a bone laced with the essence of leadership. Sage Max leaned close, whispering dogged advice on rulership as if I were to take it with a seriousness befitting the British Crown itself.

Looking out from my porcelain throne amid the whisper of trees and the murmur of four-legged friends, I couldn’t help but give a gentle snort. For now, I was Ruby, the first of her name, Queen of Pawsburg, and Keeper of the Bone of Baubles.

The End.