Hey fam bam!

🐾 Today, I became the heartbeat of a dog band in Pawsburgh. Turns out I can drum with paws as well as I can fetch! Imagine me, Tida, serving up rhythms at the Pet School Musical. It’s not just noise; it’s chasing dreams with every beat. Found my song, and can’t wait to share the melody!

Sniffs & Licks,
Titus 🥁🎶🐕

“And so it goes,” I said to myself one splendid morning as I trotted down Vizsla Valley toward a destiny I hadn’t exactly sniffed out yet. My name’s Titus, and every tail wagging step I took was a march to my own rhythm, that untamed Pitbull pounding in my heart that makes me, well, me.

Baxter had whispered (or more barked, you know how Beagles are) about a surprise at The Pawfect Training Center. “Titus,” he had yelped, “you’re going to flip your lid, man!” Baxter’s not one for dramatic flair, so I knew it had to be worth the ear-flopping hustle.

Ambling on oversized paws down Amber Akita Alley, I saw the usual suspects inhabiting Pawsburgh—a town as quirky as a dog’s love for sticking its head out a moving vehicle’s window. But as I neared the school, a curious ensemble grew louder, a chaotic symphony of barks, yips, and howls that could only mean one thing: rehearsal.

Buster, a Blue Tick hound with the voice of an angel (if angels barked out show tunes), waved me over. “Titus, big guy, just in time! We’re forming a band, a real showstopper. We’ve got the vocals, but we need muscle, someone to keep the beat, to give us that…oomph! That’s you, bud.”

Standing amidst a jumble of drums and cymbals fashioned out of old food bowls and biscuit tins, I felt a grin stretch across my jowly face. Never one to shy from a spotlight, I positioned myself and gave a tentative thump. The sound resonated, stirring something within—a desire, perhaps, to be part of something bigger than a lone ball game in the field.

A Bulldog in a tutu, who went by Ms. Froufrou, pranced up. “Darling, keep time with your heart, beat as though you’re chasing after the most delectable morsel of grilled chicken, but with a whisper of finesse. Perhaps not too heavy on the olives, they’re utterly gauche.”

Rehearsal was a blur of paws and clattering bowls, a cacophony that, by some stroke of doggy luck, melded into a harmony even humans might tap a foot to. And through it all, I drummed, I kept the beat, imagining myself a guardian of rhythm in this Pet School Musical extravaganza taking Pawsburgh by storm.

Yet as the day mellowed into a golden dusk, punctuated by our imperfect crescendos, I realized something profound. Making music, it’s not about the banging or the clashing—it’s about being part of a pack, each of us lending our voice, no matter how off-key, to a shared melody.

I trotted home under the awning of stars, the hush of night a stark contrast to the day’s revelry. And as I nestled onto my bed, my trusty squeaky ball under my chin, I whispered into the quiet, “Today, I found my song.”

Tomorrow, I knew, would bring another adventure—a new verse in the ongoing ballad of life in Pawsburgh. For now, the gentle hum of snores from the next room sang me to sleep, a lullaby for a contented pitbull who finds joy in every rollicking beat, and understands, quite clearly, that the best tunes are often the ones we stumble upon with friends by our side.

And so it goes.

The End.