Hey Mom,

Your little Otis here, just had the wildest day pretending to be Pawsburgh’s Pet Bachelor – turns out I’m more of a friend-finder than a tail-chasing romance seeker! Climbed a mountain, faced my fears (and some pushy coyotes), but in the end, I realized home with my human Angela is where my heart truly sits. Who needs roses when you’ve got loyalty and beef treats?

Woofs and wags,
Your adventure-seeker with paws,
Otis 💖🐾

Oh, the romance of Pawsburgh! The place where a dog’s dreams take the shape of tangible wonder, the sun always lopes at just the right pace across the sky, and love – well, it’s the most playful squirrel of emotions, scampering around with a mind all its own. My name, dear friends, is Otis, and today, romance beckoned me not from a far-off perch but from the heart of this Fido haven.

I woke up to the usual calamity – my plush raccoon unceremoniously dumped from its nocturnal nesting spot beside my bed. Angela, my human, had slipped away, her essence lingering like the faintest scent of bacon. At that very moment, I knew it was my chance to sashay to Shar-Pei Shores and live out my very own tail of ‘The Pet Bachelor.’

Now, I’m just an everyday Border Jack with a coat that turns heads and a love for beef that’s borderline obsessive, pardon the pun. Yet, somewhere between Terrier Tacos and Pawfect Pastries, I realized I was not just a dog today. I – fluffing my fur – was the wooed Bachelor of Pawsburgh, and the other pups? My ardent courters.

We gathered on Saluki Sands, six of us. There was dashing Duke, a Mastiff with a penchant for drool; tiny Tinker, a Chihuahua with big dreams; Bruno, a Beagle who could sniff out any secret; regal Rosalind, a Rhodesian Ridgeback without a ridge; and then Polly, whose poodle perm incurred a jealousy I dare not vocalize.

“Bachelorette Otis,” purred Polly, her pink bow just too perfect. “Care for a Whippet Wrap?”

I wagged graciously but my sights were set on more adventuresome pursuits.

“Follow me to Pyrenean Peak,” I barked, more out of excitement than an attempt to imitate my idol Sedaris. Up, up we went, tails wagging with trepidation, paws slipping on the uncertain terrain of love and gravel.

The summit brought truths – Bruno was afraid of heights, Rosalind wasn’t much for sharing space, and Tinker, oh Tinker, would rather chase her shadow. That left Duke, who sat squarely in my shadow, panting heavily from the climb, and well-coiffed Polly, her curls not even slightly ruffled by the ascent.

Duke’s sincere eyes told a story of simple companionship, one not unlike my sidewalk strolls with Angela. Polly spoke of tailored costumes from Canine Couture Clothing that would make us the talk of Pawsburgh.

I pondered over a dog pastry, my mind a tempest of indecision. How to choose? Was it beefy loyalty over sleek tailoring? Just then a sound jolted me, raucous as the mail van rumbling into my driveway. A tumble of coyotes yapping away in the distance – or at least I imagined them with the disdain of delivery men.

I trembled. Both suitors, from the giant Duke to the dainty Polly, flanked me, their bodies a shield against the invisible coyote-mailmen hybrid. And in that mix of fright and fur, I felt it – that bond, that rare connection not unlike the loyalty I lavished upon my beloved Angela.

The choice, as it dawned on me, wasn’t between Duke or Polly. It was about valuing that steadfast friendship, recognizing the courage in others that complements your own.

Returning to Angela’s side, my place of true sanctuary, I recounted my adventure, sparing no detail or sniff. My tail, a metronome of contentment, as I relished the day’s journey through love and camaraderie, knowing well that tomorrow’s Pawsburgh could hold anything – perhaps another whisker-twitching escapade to bark about.

The End.

Share This Story: