Hey Mom,

Went full ‘Pet Bachelorette’ today, judged a parade of wooers in Pawsburgh while trying to avoid veggie-shaped gifts! Spoiler alert: I rejected the fanfare for life’s simple joys. Who knew a heart could trot away from the spotlight? Anyhoo, just me and Apollo, munching chicken, hiding from veggie nightmares. Show business is ruff! More tails soon.

Licks and wags,
Percy 🐾🦴🌹✨

I suppose one could say that the sun never sets on the amorous adventures in Pawsburgh, for here I am, Percy, the ebony-coated heart-throb of Hound Heights, caught mid-strut on the cobbled streets of infatuation. And today? Today is the day my heart’s temerity is tested in the most peculiar and thrilling of ways.

Each step along Briard Bridge resonated with echoes of my myriad conquests in the grand game of love. You see, amid the daily conquests of tug ropes and fervent digs for chicken-bone treasure, this urban explorer had unwittingly dug herself into a doggy den of desires. The city had named me the most eligible Bachelorette, and who was I to argue when faced with the glaring truth? I was as sought after as the last bone at a bulldog banquet.

I approached Chowhound’s Chophouse, my gait smooth as the finest of liver pâté. The establishment was abuzz with competitors, vying for a place in my heart, or at the very least, the coveted final rose I was to bestow upon the most persuasive wooer. I couldn’t help but wonder if any of my suitors really knew me – the sturdy Lab-Bullmastiff blend with an aversion to carrots and a penchant for shadows of the vacuum-cleaner beast.

“Apollo, old pal,” I said to the mix beside me, “I fear they’re here for the spectacle more than for my spirited nuzzle or way with a misbehaving sock.” He nodded sagely, having heard my tales of valor against the dreaded water-filled chasms known as pools.

The Doggie Diner was arrayed in splendor, too much perhaps, for an unpretentious soul like mine who finds delight in a simple sock. But beneath my humble exterior is a gamester heart that thrives on the challenge.

I commenced the evening at the Pawfect Pastries, where suitors attempted the fine art of impressing one with flour-smudged noses and tails wagging in hopeful unison. An amiable Golden trotted up with a flourished bow, offering me a pastry shaped like – would you believe it? – a carrot.

“Is this humor?” I asked with an arch of my refined brow. The Golden’s ears dropped as he recognized his faux pas. “It’s cleverness I admire in a partner,” I reassured him, “but one must do their research.”

Moving on, there was Titan, the towering Mastiff, who boasted of his exploits at Happy Hounds Dog Walking service, where he had walked enough miles to circumnavigate the globe. All very impressive, but his bouquet of roses could not mask the inexplicable aroma of celery that clung to him. I shook my head; vegetables seemed to plague my evening.

Amidst the swirl of suitors, I sought solace in the simpler things – a quiet corner at The Doggy Depot, where my thoughts strayed to the familiar comfort of my blankets, the thrills of twilight fetch, the stubborn stand-offs with trickling tap water.

The night finished with drama as high as Hound Heights itself. I sat on the cushioned stage of Harrier Harbor, moonlight bouncing off my glossy coat and my single, distinctive chest spot standing like a star in a clear night sky. Suitors sat before me, their tales of ardor told, their hearts laid open like an unguarded bag of chicken treats.

But none knows my own heart, a whimsy clasped in determination. “Dear sirs,” I proclaimed, my voice steady and sure, “Percy cannot be won. She’s a seeker of life’s simple joys, not a prize to be had.”

The gasps were audible, the shock palpable.

Yes, I could be the Pet Bachelorette of Pawsburgh, but that doesn’t mean the show must go on. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll return to the game, but as every good storyteller knows – some adventures are best left to the imagination. Tonight, my dear Apollo, we dine on chicken – far from carrots and the overly dramatic pursuits of the heart.

The End.

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