Hey ma,

Fatty McFatterson here. You won’t believe the day I’ve had in Pawsburgh! Started with a cryptic key, led to a missing Bruno, and ended with us rescuing a tiny pup outside Snout Snacks. Turns out the real key was our big hearts in this tail-waggin’ adventure. We’re quite the pack now, a furry fab four! More stories when I see ya.

Licks and wags,
Newman 🐾

One wouldn’t necessarily think of Pawsburgh’s cobbled streets and quaint shops as the backdrop for a bulldog’s dramatic ruminations, but then again, one hasn’t met Newman. The sun hadn’t yet yawned its first golden stretch across the horizon, and I, Newman, was already feeling a tug in my chest, a sinking feeling that today would be rife with the unexpected.

I remember stretching on the rug beside my bed – the one that so cleverly hides my disdain for Brussels sprouts – and shaking off sleep’s last whisper. My human had left a note, rather cryptic, that read, “Back soon, love. Remember the key.” Ah, the key. It wasn’t for our front door nor for any lock I knew of, but rather it was a very Pawsburgh sort of thing—a key to a day’s worth of adventures, possibly misadventures.

The first order of business at daybreak, naturally, was breakfast at Canine Cafe, where the omelettes are done to such a fine turn that even the sniffiest of breeds would deign to wolf them down. But this morning, Babs, indeed sprightly as advertised, barrelled into me with news of her dismay.

“Bruno’s gone missing!” she exclaimed. His absence was a void not simply due to his sizable frame but due to the quiet strength he brought to our trio. Our little grouping was really all the average mutt ever required in Pawsburgh – camaraderie.

As we frequented Rottweiler Ridge, hoping to spot him – after all, it was one of Bruno’s many favored places – I mused aloud, musing being a most effective way to process thoughts, so they say, “What would a bloke like him do without his company?”

Babs suggested the The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium as our next point of search. Someone had seen Bruno sniffing about there, no doubt at his attempt to look intimidating before the felines. But alas, he was not there, and nor was he at Onyx Otterhound Oasis, where the water is said to be as calming as the Buddha dog himself.

Our search took us to The Dapper Dog Salon, where the latest cuts and styles were more than I could fathom, even with my own notable coat. “Seen Bruno?” I asked Penelope, the proprietor. “Big fella, soulful eyes? Looks as though he could eat you, but he’d sooner weep at a sonnet?”

Her snip ceased, and she pointed a scissored paw towards Schnauzer Street. “He went that way,” she said, an alliteration not lost in my current state. Schnauzer Street was not for the faint of heart, not with its alleys and whispers. But this was Bruno, a fellow of infinite jest – at times – and yet a ponderous heart.

We trailed Schnauzer Street, passing The Howling Husky Hardware Store, where Bruno once tried to fix a leaky faucet and instead freed a fountain. Babs’s shadow, fleet as ever, danced ahead until she stopped abruptly and pointed.

There he was, our Bruno, his great Dane frame huddled outside Snout Snacks, holding unto something small and fragile – a pup, no bigger than a teacup, with a whimper that bespoke volumes of his distress.

“Found him by The Howling Husky,” Bruno murmured, his deep timbre a tremolo. “Couldn’t just leave him, could I?”

“No,” I agreed, my heart swelling with a pride that far exceeded my stout form. “You absolutely could not.”

In Pawsburgh, mysteries were often the glue that bonded us. The key wasn’t about opening a tangible door, but open-heart meeting open paw. The rest of the day, we were heroes in our quiet drama, a trio becomes a quartet. The day had been more delicious than my favorite unmentionable savory, and infinitely sweeter too.

The End.

Share This Story: