Hey hooman! Just so you know, I’ve been wrangling Pawsburgh to order like a pro. Saved Mastiff’s Meals from a greedy cockapoo today and kept our reputation as top dog polished and intact. Don’t worry about the tails of my day; I’ve got the family and our empire snuggly wrapped around my paw. It’s quite the life, leading the pack and nabbing the occasional bakery treat.
Tails up, Mollyanna

(*Ahem* – Clearing my throat in a very human way before sinking into a dog’s mind.)

It was another typical day in Pawsburgh, the kind of day where the sun rolls in the sky like a golden ball of yarn (or so Cappuccino tells me, he always did have a poetic flair for the dramatics). You might think a Shorkie like me would fancy a day spent in the serenity of the Diamond Doberman Dunes, but the truth is, I had business to attend to.

You see, in this furry corner of the world, I’m something of a figure—a furry paw of power, if you will. Mollyanna—the name hums in the streets like the jingle of a collar tag, and let me tell you, it’s not just because of my impeccable strut around the local dog park.

Pawsburgh runs on a certain order, a structure not unlike a pack. And today, at the Pup’s Paella, some unsavory cockapoo decided he’d dip his paws into Mastiff’s Meals’ supplies. The audacity. He didn’t get his jowls far, thanks to a tip-off from a Great Dane with eyes everywhere.

As I trotted into the restaurant, the scent of saffron and seafood wafted through the air, tantalizing even the most well-behaved pup. It was a delicate dance, running the show while keeping my snout clean, if you catch my drift. With Cappuccino trotting at my heels, a plan began to unfurl in my mind, like a leash unwinding from its hook. After all, he’s not just my brother; he’s my partner-in-tails.

“Listen closely,” I murmured to Cappuccino as we weaved between the tables. “We’re not going to make a scene. Pawsburgh doesn’t need theatrics, not when a pointed stare or a well-timed growl suffice.” He nodded, an eager yip swallowed by silent agreement.

As for the cockapoo, a whisper of my name had him shaking more than a leaf in a hurricane, which around here, represented respect—or something akin to fear. And when I asked him sweetly to ‘leave it’, he knew it was in his best interest to drop those ill-gotten gains.

Triumph walks on four legs, my friends, and as I departed Pup’s Paella, the other patrons gazed with a mixture of reverence and caution—a scribe couldn’t etch a clearer image of control.

But control, as with all things, came at a cost. In the shadows of Spitz Spire, I pondered the balance of tails and threads, wondering if the binding of family and empire would tangle. The Woofy Bakery was a breath away, its scents a reminder of the joys beyond illicit crumbs. Yet, even a dog mob boss can’t resist the allure of a nicely baked bread bone.

Cappuccino, bless his scruffy fur, turned eyes on me that spoke volumes. He knew the burden of the top dog. And as we sat there, bellies full of stolen moments and purloined pastries, I realized I wasn’t just balancing the empire and the family; the family was the empire. My tail wagged in spite of it all.

At the end of the day, as I settled on my squishmallow bed, I knew these escapades wouldn’t be the tales I’d narrate to the neighborhood humans. But as I drifted into dreams, the adventures of Mollyanna, the feared and revered pet mob boss of Pawsburgh, curled around me, as comforting as a well-loved blanket.

Remember, it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, and well, I am very well-fed.

The End.

Share This Story: