Hey Mom,

Just a quick tail-wag from ol’ Tozer a.k.a your ‘Tasmanian Devil’. Spent the day outwitting vacuums, dodging the Duchess, and snagging pizza at Pawprint with Sarge. Even had my Tonka tire “borrowed” for a kibble conference! All’s good in Pawsburgh – pawsitively hectic, but wouldn’t have it any other way. Sniffs and woofs!

Tozer 🐾

Well now, let me tell you a quick yarn ’bout a day in the life of yours truly in the land of Pawsburgh, where every cur and mongrel trades tales long after their humans reckon they’re asleep. Now, I ain’t the sort to hang my tongue out for just any old thing, but there’s somethin’ ’bout Jade Jack Russell Junction that just gets my tail a-waggin’.

It was another day at the office in Pawsburgh, and I, Tozer—yes, that stout-hearted bulldog with the fetching dot—I was sat plumb in the middle of the hustle, nestled tight in a cubicle at The Pooch Playhouse, the most esteemed business this side of Shiba Inlet. My toy, that trusty Tonka tire tug toy, lay beside my paw, ready for any shenanigans or distractions to help the day along.

“Now, Tozer,” began Duchess, our Great Dane manager, prancing ’bout with an air of aristocracy, “there’s to be no rough-housin’ on company time.” Her deep gaze fixed upon my mug as she scrutinized my very bein’. As if on cue, a soft grunt followed by a customary snort announced the presence of Sarge, my right-paw bulldog—an accountant with a sniffer for numbers.

Sarge caught my eye and gave a nod toward Fetch! Toys and Treats. “Lunch run?” his glance seemed to say, wrinkling his brow in the most persuasive of bulldog fashions. But before we could entertain the notion, the pitter-patter of canine claws against linoleum drew us back to the pile of paperwork afore us.

The day wore on like a pup chewin’ on a bone—tedious with moments of flavor—and I kept my snout to the grindstone. Yet, the murmurin’ of pups in the nearby cubicle pricked my ears.

“Apparently, Tozer chased the vacuum ’round the break room,” whispered a terrier with a giggle, as regaled by the office gossip grapevine.

Aye, but the tale, though exaggerated, held a kernel of truth. Let it be known I ain’t one to back down from a duel with that dust-suckin’ demon. So the vacuum and I, we had our standoff in the break room till Duchess, with a stern scold and an eye roll that suggested she’d seen it all before, restored the peace.

Lunchtime came ’round as brisk as a spring breeze. With our paws clean of ink and our duties put aside for an hour of respite, Sarge and I sauntered to Pawprint Pizzeria where the scent of timothy hay and smoked salmon topped kibble wafted to our nostrils, temptin’ even the most reticent of pups.

I scoffed heartily at the sight of my friend the Duchess, perched regally at Dog’s Delicacies, where she dined on the finest of canine cuisine. “Tozer,” she called out, “do try the paella at Pup’s Paella; it’s seasoned with something quite magnificent.”

Upon returnin’ to our humble abode of commerce, I’d find my Tonka tire missing, swiped by some anonymous trickster lookin’ to ruffle my fur. As the afternoon shadows grew long and the search fruitless, in swept a haze of dust motes, carried on beams of the golden, settin’ sun.

It turned out my esteemed colleague, Sarge, had borrowed the toy for a presentation on durability in the conference kibble. Twas all in good jest, and laughter echoed off the walls of The Pooch Playhouse as I joined in the fun, my ire as short-lived as a pup’s scowl.

For as the briefs were typed and the meetings convened, we carried on in Pawsburgh—a tiny slice of heaven made just for us dogs. And as we scampered out of our plush abode and into the embrace of nightfall, it was to slumber ‘neath the very roofs of our unwitting humans, dreaming of the next day’s escapades.

Now that’s a slice of life in Pawsburgh—whimsy, work, and a wheelbarrow of woofs—all rolled into one.

The End.