Hey furball, just wrapped up a day as Scooter, the scruffy diplomat of Pawsburgh. Brokered peace at Rottweiler’s Ribs, inaugurated a dig pit for unity, and still managed a puppuccino victory lap with the crew. All in a day’s tail wag! Keep those paws padded and your tails high – our bark is our bond. Catch ya after my human’s walkies! 🐾 – Scoot

Stepping into Saluki Sands always gave me that woozy tail-wagging sensation of anticipation – you know, like anticipating that first scratch behind the ears. But today wasn’t about leisure; it was about diplomacy in Pawsburgh. I sauntered across the dunes, my scruffy coat mirroring the casually unkempt tufts of grass towering here and there. My paws bore the weight of a nation — well, a town-nation of dogs, if we’re getting technical.

“Psst, Scooter! Over here,” whispered Whiskers, making one of her star-spangled introductions from behind a palm tree shaped like a hydrant at Blue Basenji Bay. Her whiskers twitched with the gravity of the situation.

Atlas was already there, lying like a benevolent beast beside her, offering a slow nod that suggested he’d much rather be napping. That’s Atlas, a Colossus lured from slumber to be our muscle.

“We’ve got a situation at Rottweiler’s Ribs,” I said, exuding the nonchalant concern of a four-legged leader trying not to show the pack his paws were shaking. “It involves the Canine Council and a game of fetch that’s gone awry.”

Whiskers’ eyes glinted, matching the glimmer of Sapphire Sea behind her. “No bones about it, we’ve got to act fast. Before the humans wake up.”

A rush of adrenaline tingled through my fur like the fizz from one of those human sodas. Time to be the protagonist.

We waltzed into Rottweiler’s Ribs, the scent of sizzling perfection nearly distracting me. Nearly. “Scooter, focus,” I chided myself, channeling a Mindy Kaling quip, adding, “You can’t negotiate on an empty stomach, but we’re here to serve up justice, not just protein.”

High-paw negotiations weren’t for the faint of heart or the short of tail. It was a flurry of barks, an occasional growl, yet underpinned by the understanding that we all adored dog biscuits equally.

“Now listen here,” I began, standing tabletop to catch their attention. Admittedly, the wafting scent of Shepherd’s Shawarma from next door did test my concentration. “We need a resolution that doesn’t end with anyone in the doghouse. So, let’s chew over the issue, not the furniture.”

The Canine Council members paused, ears perked. Whiskers sat poised by my side, tail creating complex patterns in the dust. Atlas let out a low hum of a bark that endorsed my words: No free lunches in Pawsburgh, only fair deals.

“I propose a communal digging ground,” I continued, already envisioning the perfect pit behind Golden Grub. “A place for all paws, claws, and friends—”

“—Friends like me, right?” interjected Whiskers, unable to help herself. Spotting opportunities was her sport, after all.

“Exactly,” I winked — my eye doing the whirling dance of camaraderie. “A place where Malamute Mountain meets Saluki Sands, where every pup has a patch.”

The council nodded, their tails drafting the first articles of our new sandbox treaty in the air. Whispers of assent traveled across the room, a canine consensus.

With diplomacy done, we unwound at The Canine Cafe. I took a victory gulp of my puppuccino, foam clinging to my scruff. Whiskers indulged in a catnip cupcake — “To broaden her palate,” she claimed. Atlas, silent until this moment, mused, “Peace in Pawsburgh, and you still have time for a nap.”

A canine’s work was never done, but in those brief interludes between chaos and cuddles, between midnight runs and sunrise sniffing, we constructed our own little Dogtopia. In barks and tail wags, we debated and decreed, building a town where every dog had its day — and every day was a dog’s dream come true.

Just then, as the first light of dawn peeked in, I realized it was nearly time to return to my human, to the humble existence of a Grey Cairn terrier named Scooter, with stories to sit—and stay—in hearts forever. Keep wagging, Pawsburgh. Keep wagging.

The End.

Share This Story: