Hey buddy, just a heads up from your favorite furry troubleshooter, Ace. Had to school some sly cats trespassing in Pawsburg—classic cat and dog tale. All in a day’s work for The Bone Rattlers. Duty before breakfast, as always. Earth thinks I’m a pet, but Pawsburg knows I’m the legend. Catch you at sunset. 🐾 – Ace

As the stars concede to the first kiss of dawn, Earth begins its languid stretch into consciousness, but I—Ace, the soulful Pitbull with a penchant for sunsets and a distaste for lemons—tire of such routines. My eyes, two hazel jewels set in caramel velvet, observe the world with a warmth unfelt by the pastel skies.

Morning yawns escape me as I saunter through the streets of Earth, a town so mundane it’s almost ironic. These streets know me as the gentle giant, yet they catch only whispers of my true home—Pawsburg, where the air vibrates with tail-wags and the scent of Paw Pad Thai rouses the fiercest of appetites.

Today, as any other, I vanish from the Earth that sleeps while I stray towards Pawsburg, nudged by the familiar thrill of anarchy and loyalty. Terrier Town’s gates greet me; I nod to the dozing bouncer, a stout Bulldog with a scar that tells more tales than his grunts.

The town stirs, awash with the hustle of paws on cobblestone. Sparrow, a Jack Russell with eyes that could outsmart the moon, greets me with a yip. “Ace, my man, ready to ride?”

“Always,” I mutter, my baritone voice adding weight to the morning fog. We Head towards The Wheelie Willows, the heart of Pawsburg’s own motorcycle club—The Bone Rattlers. Grasping my helmet between my jaws, I straddle my custom ride, a chopper that gleams like my fur under the sun.

But then, a yowl from the direction of Shar-Pei Shores breaks our focus—Tortoise, the wizened Terrier mix and a master of leisurely panic, waves his paw in alarm. “Trouble at the Newfoundland Nook. Snouts are sniffing where they shouldn’t.”

The call to paws is clear. Sparrow hops on his sporty two-wheeler, engines roaring to life, a symphony of primal calls. Pawsburg needs its protectors; the Bone Rattlers are ready to deliver.

A detour at Whippet Wraps for fuel – the real kind, not petrol – would have been welcomed, but duty bellows louder than stomachs. We race, Sparrow and I, winds whipping through our fur like the touch of destiny, our bikes a blusterous declaration of our bond.

Revving into Newfoundland Nook, we find the culprits—a gang of cats, their eyes gleaming with feline mischief, marking their scent on our perimeters. I dismount with grace unfitting of my size, and Sparrow flanks me, tiny but fierce.

“We don’t take kindly to rowdy purrs in our town,” I say, the growl in my voice belying my genteel nature.

The cats, sensing the tightening net of defiance, retreat with a hiss. Our message is clear: Pawsburg is for dogs, and dogs we shall always be.

Back in Earth, the sun drapes its golden mantle over the land, signaling my return. I trot with the satisfaction of a day’s guard well done, Sparrow securing our flanks. Anticipation builds for the night’s return to Pawsburg, where I shall feast on chicken and herbs at Paw Pad Thai, and perhaps even sneak a blueberry tart from The Woofy Bakery—if Sparrow doesn’t snick it first.

As I lay my head down, weary from the day’s ventures, I sigh, my chest a treasure chest of secrets only Pawsburg knows. A glimpse of tomorrow’s sunset flirts with my imagination, and I smile a dog’s smile, content amidst the anarchy of loyalty, the protector of my hallowed grounds.

Ace, they call me here, but in Pawsburg, I am legend.

The End.

Share This Story: