Hey Dad, just a heads up, I totally rocked the Pet Games today! 🏆 Leaped hurdles like a gazelle, stared down the vacuum demon, and out-tugged a beastly Mastiff for the Golden Bone. All those play battles with you paid off – I’m now the reigning champ of Pawsburgh! Can’t wait to celebrate with extra belly rubs and treats. 🦴🥇💪 Love, your victorious furball Bella 🐾

The sun hadn’t yet cracked the horizon when I nudged dad’s snoozing face with my wet nose. “Bella, five more minutes,” he groaned, but five minutes in human time is an eternity in dog time. I hopped off the bed, my pit mix energy bubbling like a soda can on a roller coaster, ready to explode.

It was the day of the Pet Games, the annual tail-wagging extravaganza where dogs like me, Bella, compete for the Golden Bone. I strutted my stuff down Whippet Way, head held high, blue and white fur glistening in the dawn light. “Girl, you got this,” I whispered to myself, doubting neither my loyalty nor my intelligence. And definitely not my stubbornness since I planned to win, no matter what tricky traps Pawsburgh had pawed out for me.

At Briard Bridge, I met Jack, my rascal of a friend who seemed more interested in sniffing every paw-print than focusing. “Bella! Have you practiced your tug-of-war grip?” he asked, his tail an enthusiastic propeller behind him. “Oh, please,” I retorted. “I mastered that while you were still chasing your tail in circles.”

The game zone throbbed with anticipation, dogs of every kind were stretching, flexing, and showcasing their bravado. I smirked, confident in my abilities. Sunbathing on the park lawns had strengthened me; those UV rays had baked my muscles like meaty dog treats.

First up: the Hurdle Hustle. And what a spectacle! A Jack Russell did a somersault over the final hurdle. Show-off.

But when my turn came, I reminded myself, “Bravery, Bella. Bravery and grace.” And, as graceful as a ballerina—if that ballerina could sprint and jump with the strength of a lion—I soared over each hurdle like they were mere twigs.

Victory was sweet… but short-lived because then they brought out the dreaded VACUUM MONSTER for the Obstacle Challenge. That roaring beast and I were old nemeses. We glared at each other, my fur standing on end like it was auditioning to be a porcupine. But I was not alone; the crowd’s bark-cheering was as uplifting as a belly rub. Summoning my courage, I tore past it, leaping and dodging like it was a game of cosmic tag.

I was panting like a locomotive when I reached Sniffer’s Sandwiches for a pitstop. A savory scent flirted with my snout, triggering a vision of a beef and chicken bonanza, or perhaps it was bacon drizzled with peanut butter juju. Whatever it was, it was my favorite, that much I knew.

Finally, the moment of all moments: Tug-of-War. I fancied myself a tugging expert, each pull a sonnet, a masterclass in determination. Paws dug into the dirt, I was an anchor in a stormy sea.

And yet, there I stood, glaring at a monstrous Mastiff from across the rope. Our eyes locked, a silent agreement made: this was war.

“This is my house!” I barked, channelling my inner Tina Fey—if she had a tail and a taste for biscuits. “Let’s dance, Marmaduke!”

The contest was legendary. We pulled back and forth, neither yielding. I thought about baths, being alone without dad, and I channeled that sadness into strength, into fury, until… the Mastiff slipped—a rookie mistake.

I yanked with all my might. He toppled. The crowd erupted. I had won.

Exhausted, I slumped under a tree, the Golden Bone resting beside me. The sun bathed me in a warm embrace, and I closed my eyes. Silently, I thanked dad for believing in me, for every game of tug, every romp in the park. Today, I wasn’t just a dog. I was Bella, champion of the Pawsburgh Pet Games.

The End.