Hey Mom,

Just wrapped up a wild adventure in Pawsburgh—think Butch Cassidy with more fur. Led my pack through syrup-scented showdowns, fluffy makeovers, and a moonlit rodeo that’d make a cowboy’s heart sing. I’m home now, tuckered out but triumphantly tail-wagging. Violet’s the paw-fect blend of bravado and cuddles.

Night night,
Violent Violet 🐾✨

There I was, in good ole’ Pawsburgh, tougher than a two-dollar steak, and just as chewy. The sun had high-tailed it to the other side of the sky, leaving us pooches to our devices, and me? Well, I was looking to rustle up some fun.

I sauntered down Affenpinscher Avenue, my collar jingling like spurs on a cowboy’s boots. You see, the tumbleweeds rolled elsewhere in this part of the town; our West was as much about wits and whiskers as it was about wilderness.

The door to Husky’s Hotcakes swung open, the scent of maple syrup was enough to make your tail wag off your butt. I wasn’t there for chow though—I was on a mission: to find Oakley and Willow for an adventure. But first, a Bulldog’s gotta groom.

I trotted into The Dapper Dog Salon, catching my reflection in the mirror. “‘Scuse me, darling,” I said to the Poodle running the joint. “Could you fluff my wrinkles? I’ve got some impressin’ to do.” I wouldn’t admit it loud, but I’d sniff around a mile in circles just to have her primp my fur. I gave a wink and tossed her a treat. “Keep the change.”

Once lookin’ spiffy as a new bone, I bounded out to Spitz Spire. My paws itched for the throaty growls of a hoedown, and who should I find but Annabelle, tail spinning like a twister, and the rest of my fur-mily.

“Violet!” Willow barked, her voice smooth as fresh-churned butter. “What’s the ruckus about tonight?”

I flashed a toothy grin. “You ever get the notion to peek beyond the dog park’s edge?”

Oakley tilted his head, ears floppin’. “The last frontier?” he asked, disbelief lacing his bark.

I nodded, feelin’ the pull of the wild. “Let’s lasso the moon, partners.”

They howled, a sign I took as a ‘heck yes.’ We set out, the stars blinkin’ above us like a thousand tiny campfires.

The night was quieter than a church mouse over by Akita Alley, which was rarer than a cat at a dog’s birthday party, but it served us just fine. Pawsburgh was our uncharted territory, our lonely prairie before the veil of dawn would draw it back into the shadows.

Our mission? To paint the canine town red, and it was no idyllic stroll through Pom’s Pies to get there—I’m talkin’ about rebelling against the tyranny of the pet fence.

Lily, bless her soul, she’s as stubborn as they come, a real spitfire—that hound dog cousin of mine could cause a dust-up in a ghost town but keepin’ to her turf tonight, peaceful as a monk on a mountaintop.

We had the whoops and yips of a rodeo as we bounded, playful as pups, with Oakley climbin’ things no dog oughta, Annabelle chasin’ her own shadow like she was unravellin’ the mysteries of the universe itself, and Willow? Well, she was more elegant than a waltz on a riverboat, even while kickin’ up the dirt with the best of us.

At the peak of our moon-soaked revelry, we ended up splashin’ in the pool in the heart of Pawsburgh, echoes of our laughter bouncing off water like a hitched ride on a stagecoach. I told them tales of confrontin’ my fears, you know, like the vacuum cleaner showdowns—my own private outlaw.

After our midnight rodeo, as Pawsburgh’s spell began to wane, I was content, nestled among my kin, belly full of pancakes and pie crust. The warmth of a day’s adventure settled in my bones like an old friend, and I couldn’t help but think…

Life in Pawsburgh, even for a day, was wilder than the wildest West. And me, Violet, English Bulldog extraordinaire, I was just happy to ride into the sunrise, a testimony to every doggone good time to be had when the humans ain’t lookin’.

The End.