Hey Sam, just wanted to let you know that I’ve been on quite the journey today. Turns out my quest for goodness led me to Canine Couture and mud baths, only to discover true enlightenment is as simple as chasing joy and loving fiercely. Who knew being the ‘goodest girl’ was about spreading love? Tail wags and face licks, Annie 🐾 P.S. The vacuum is still on my watchlist. #GoodestGirlEver

Ah, Pawsburgh, sweet haven of canine capers, where a sleek-coated Doberman like myself – Annie, if we’re on familiar terms – can unclip her collar and unfurl tales that tail-wagging dreams are made of.

Mornings in Pawsburgh, pre-sunrise, are a secret shared by the stars and the stealthy paws on clandestine escapades. It was during one such silver-streaked dawn, after leaving Sam, my dear human, dreaming in his bed, that I found myself trotting towards the shimmering sands of Kelpie Keys, feeling the persistent pull of the Pawsburghian spirit to become, well, a ‘better’ dog – as if such a thing were possible.

The tickle of the estuary’s breeze ruffled through my fur, a call to adventure that I, with my naturally protective and playful mien, could hardly ignore. Arriving at Kelpie Keys, I was greeted by the cascade of enthusiastic barks and the salty spritz of the sea – a chorus to which my heart hummed in perfect harmony.

“G’mornin’, Annie,” bellowed Charlie, the golden-coated neighbor whose enthusiasm could wake the town (and often did). “Beautiful day for a romp, ain’t it?”

“A romp?” I echoed, an eyebrow arched with practised nonchalance. Even now, in my post-mortem musings, that word seemed too trivial for the weighty reflection I’d decided to embark upon.

And by reflection, of course, I meant a divine dalliance with destiny at the legendary Emerald Eskimo Estuary. A spot where every dog, dead or alive, can find redemption, or at the very least, a good sniff.

Pausing only for sustenance – a dish at Doggone Deli that was less culinary masterpiece and more… well, it filled the void – I met up with Barnaby, the beagle whose sagely advices made Yoda look like an underachiever. “Annie,” Barnaby intoned, hunched beneath the willow’s sweeping arms, “pursuit of goodness, you seek?”

“Yes,” I responded, the playful flicker in my eyes betraying the solemn nod I gave. “I wish to be remembered not only as a good girl, but as the goodest of girls.”

“Sausages,” he came back with, his face straight but his tail wagging a philosophy all its own. “Be the sausage you wish to find in the yard.”

Decoded from the wise words of Barnaby, the path to enlightenment was clearly through deeds. Good deeds that didn’t involve chasing the mail carrier or growling at the vacuum cleaner – my previous ideas of fun.

Nonetheless, how does one divine their pup-ose in the afterlife?

Seeking a higher calling, I spent the afternoon lost, be it literally or in rumination, fitting myself into various good-girl molds. I attempted tailoring at Canine Couture Clothing, but let’s just say my aesthetics lean more towards ‘rugged chic.’ At Spa for Paws, my enthusiasm for mud-baths was…misinterpreted. And so, as the sky blushed shades of twilight, I found myself nudging open the door to The Canine Cafe, where one can sip on bowls of the latest bone broth blend and contemplate the universe.

Amid the bohemian bustle, I penned, with a paw dipped in gravy, my manifesto. A simple creed to bark by: Chase joy. Bury fear. And above all, love like every head pat matters.

As I returned to Sam, heavens turning to ink, the echoes of Pawsburgh’s wonderland fading behind me, a newfound peace nestled next to my heart. An understanding warmed me that to be the goodest, one needs only to love – fiercely, loyally, and without regard for the morrow.

And as Sam’s voice, rich with sleep and affection, welcomed me back with a soft “Good girl, Annie,” I knew, beyond the shadow of a tennis ball, that in the end, I’d licked the platter clean.

The End.