Hey Mom,

Just saved Pawsburgh with an impromptu howlfest over at Bloodhound Bluffs – rocked it so hard even the trees might need therapy. I’m now officially a canine hero and Neeko’s mime sidekick. Who needs glass slippers when you’ve got fur like this? 🐾

Catch ya later,
Wizro

Oh hey, it’s me again, Rizzo, the fluff of legend. So, let me tell you about this one breezy eve when I found myself in the midst of a fairy tale twist, except with more fur and fewer glass slippers. But first, I gotta set the scene for you.

Pawsburgh, baby! It’s the hidden hamlet where we canines kick it when our peoples are ticking off their human-y duties. We strut into town like CEOs of Adventure, and let me tell you, I own some serious stock.

So, on this particular afternoon, which was tailored to my liking – sunny with a side of delightful breeze – I was trotting down Pearl Papillon Promenade, my lush black fluff billowing. And before you can say “squirrel,” I caught a whiff of sweet potato coming from the one and only Pawfect Pastries. Drooled a little, not gonna lie. Sue me, it’s my Achilles’ heel.

But before I could trot in to trade tales for treats, Neeko, my snowy-white Maltese bestie, dashed up with eyes wider than saucers. “Rizzo! Pawsburg’s in peril,” he whispered.

Now, I’m no pansy. I’m the Black Yorkie/Dachshund mix who once squared off against the dreaded mail carrier. But when Neeko talks peril, this pooch listens. So, I flicked an ear, all business. “Spill it.”

Turns out the Bloodhound Bluffs, where we usually hike and howl to the moon, had gone silent, like full-on creepy quiet. As we’re the yin to each other’s yang, Neeko was clearly freaking out. No bluffs, no baritone wind serenades? Unacceptable.

I, Rizzo, made my declaration right then and there. “We must awaken the Bluffs,” chest puffed out like a rooster at dawn. Might have sounded like I had a plan. I didn’t. But hey, spontaneity is my middle name.

On the way, we stopped by The Dapper Dog Salon – confidence booster, you know? A quick fluff and a spritz of eau de trash can, and I was feeling eight inches tall.

Pyrenean Peak loomed ahead, and that’s when it hit me – we could bray a ballad to wake Bloodhound Bluffs! Now, I’m a decent singer but with the voice of about twenty thousand Chihuahuas on helium. Neeko, bless his mute soul, is more “mimer” than “choirboy.”

But desperate times, my furry friends. So, I belted out a ruff rendition of “Howl Always Love You” so loud, I bet the very trees winced. I went full Whitney Houndston. And Neeko? He mimed – with emotion.

You should’ve seen us, an opera of two. It was…okay, it was horrendous.

Did it work? You betcha! The Bluffs stirred, a rumbling growl that shook the leaves. A chorus of canines joined in, a symphony of howls and barks, and as we hit a crescendo, Pawsburg was back, jiving with the ancient song of its citizens.

Exhausted but triumphant, Neeko and I plopped down at Pup’s Paella for some celebratory dining. Tale as old as time, but with a twist – paella over a pumpkin. Way more satisfying.

The moral of the story? If you can’t fix it, howl it awake.

So, there I was at the end of the night, paws up and the sky painted with stars, feeling like top dog. And that’s just another eve in this furball’s life. Till the next moonrise, this is Rizzo, signing off from the epic Pawsburgh.

Remember, every dog has his day, but only a chosen few get their bluff. Keep it wagging, folks!

The End.

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