Hey Mom,

You won’t believe it—I’m the narrator-in-chief for our office newsletter here at “The Fetching Firm”! Picture me, Bubbles (yes, A.K.A. Bubbaduds), spinning yarns about our daily doggie escapades, from strategic sausage sniffing to fur-fluffing fashionistas. It’s all about the life of paws and paperwork! Paws crossed it’ll be as thrilling for the readers as a tail chase in the park.

Catch you at dinner — hopefully, it’s those heaven-sent Vienna sausages!

Licks and wags,
Bubbaduds 🐾✨

As I’m sprawled on my back, the custodian of comfort, the sun showers her blessings through the window. A yawn escapes me, but it’s not of tiredness; rather, a prelude to the big day ahead. Today’s the day I’ve been tasked, as the Assistant to the Regional Manager at “The Fetching Firm” in Pawsburgh, to write the quarterly newsletter.

I must admit, eloquence is one of my many talents, second only to my impeccable taste in treats.

A scratch behind the ear sets my mind racing. What better way to showcase the spirited life of this canine hub than through my own tales? After all, who better than I, Bubbles, the tan-coated connoisseur of experiences, to narrate the events of our four-legged workplace with the same vigour as I chase my cherished ‘mother fuckers’ across the plush carpet of our office?

The sun climbs higher, and I can sense the beckoning of duty. Glancing at Benny, who’s already at his desk, resolved as ever, I empathize with the droopy-eyed disinterest for yet another planning meeting. It’s Market Day after all; my personal endorsement could elevate Shepherd’s Shawarma’s lamb spit to celestial status. But alas, work before play.

“Bubbles,” I heard his voice, “are you pondering the supply chain logistics or simply the architecture of your next nap?”

That’s Benny, a saint among canines, a legendary Lhasa Apsa with a silver mane and an eye for dry humor.

“Contemplation, dear Benny, is nutrition for the intellectual,” I retort, my wit as sharp as the pointy ends of my delightful PekaChug ears.

The clatter of keyboards resounds, yet I’m already drafting the opening lines in my mind, musing over the latest gossip along Lhasa Lane and the feats of agility displayed on Malamute Mountain.

Our office, the epicenter of Pawsburgh’s commercial drama, is a spectacle of temperaments and talents. Iggy, the frenetic Italian Greyhound from accounting, has likely overtaken everyone in the number-crunching department—a fact all too often whooshed before our noses faster than he can sprint towards Saluki Sands.

I let out a bark of a chuckle, then notice the lens of the primary camera. It’s always capturing these precious moments of candid canine charisma – as genuine as my abhorrence for those enigmatic green strings humans call asparagus.

The joys and jolts of office camaraderie admittedly pique my narration. There’s the unparalleled thrill of sneaking up to Hound’s Hotdogs during lunch escapes—a team-building exercise, I argue. And let’s not disregard the therapeutic visits to The Dapper Dog Salon, where a fur-fluff represents a rite of passage for every Pawsburgh pup climbing the corporal ladder.

Just as I’m rounding off my thoughts, I smell it – the divine scent of Vienna sausages! It’s the food cart vendor beneath our window – a feast on wheels. It drones like a siren call… priorities, Bubbles, priorities.

Refocused, I tap my own announcement in the newsletter: a sale at Canine Couture Clothing. My adoration for velvety textures has long surpassed my clothing needs; a fashionista, I’ve been named.

As I wrap up my writing, another glance outside promises an afternoon filled with echoes of laughter and invitations to unseen adventures. I’ll regale my dear human with exploits of days and delve into the vibrant world only I know by twilight’s embrace.

Asserting my place as Pawsburgh’s most eloquent PekaChug, I vow my tales will be spun with the fervor of a pup unleashed, spurting his story as if it’s the last squeak of a treasured toy.

Life, my friends, is a mountain of Malamutes, a lane of Lhasas, sands of Salukis – and I, Bubbles, am but a humble narrator, steering you through the maze that is our business of being dogs.

The End.