Hey Mammy,

Just a heads up from your fave pup Monty – today I resisted the siren song of trash treats, saved a Chihuahua’s ball, and splurged to get an old Rottie a spa day. Who knew your boy had a halo hidden in his collar? Tonight, I’m the hero of Pawsburgh, a ‘good boy’ indeed. Dreams of doggy virtue ain’t just for napping anymore!

Paws and kisses,
Monty 🐾😇

Okay, full disclosure: the name’s Monty, Monty the Bulldog. By now, you ought to know me – I’m the tan and white charmer with exceptional taste in toys, friends, and sometimes, food. I mean, come on, carrots? Those orange sticks of doom get a hard pass from this pup every time.

Now, grab a cozy spot, because I’m about to take you through a day in Pawsburgh – the place where dogs dare to dream. And yes, this yarn features yours truly becoming just a smidge better in the doggo afterlife, all in the sniff of an adventure.

So, I’m waddling down Papillon Promenade, my jowls flapping majestically in the wind, en route to meet Toby. Now, Toby is this Springer Spaniel that always has the latest dirt on everyone in Terrier Town. We’re thick as thieves, but don’t tell Mammy. Anyway, Toby’s yapping on about moral philosophy, something about being a ‘good boy’ beyond snatching an extra treat. The idea shook me like a chew toy – could Monty elevate to unprecedented heights of canine virtue? I had to give it a shot.

First on my Good Boy Bucket List: not burrow through the trash when feasting at Rottweiler’s Ribs. I strutted through the doors, my stubby tail perking up at the scent of succulent bones. But uh-oh, here comes the test. A pork rib, still dripping with glorious sauce, beckons me from the garbage bin. Reader, I won’t lie, it’s calling my name. But today, Monty, the Magnificent, resists.

“There’s a first.” I smirk to myself, and it feels kinda good, like belly rubs after breakfast good. My stomach grumbles at the missed opportunity, but I strut to my table with a saintly glow. I order the Bulldog Breakfast Bonanza minus the carrots, obviously. I’m good, but I ain’t crazy.

Later, refreshed and virtuous, I’m cruising Cavalier Cove when I spot a frenzied Chihuahua searching for her missing ball. In the old days, I would’ve strolled on, Lammy tucked safely under my jowls. But the new Monty, the Monty with a mission, plunges into the thicket without hesitation. A few scratches and one slobber-smeared Lammy later, I emerge triumphant with the tiny terror’s ball. Her gratitude is overwhelming – like, “Hey, I need my space” overwhelming.

I make another stop at The Groom Room, the snazziest spa this side of Pawsburgh. The tail-wag is real as pups emerge fresh and fluffy. I sniff around, thinking someone could use a surprise pampering. After spotting a grizzled old Rottweiler waiting for his owner, it’s clear. My treat. I mean, if I’m gonna be a Good Boy 2.0, might as well pay it forward, right?

Now, the sun sets on Pawsburgh with all its magical smells and curiosities, and I feel a pinch proud of myself. I lay down on my plush car seat, the evening breeze tickling my snout – and I confess, Lammy looks a tad jealous of my altruistic escapades. Could it be Mammy doesn’t know the half of it? She pats me, whispering her goodnight, unaware of the hero she’s cuddling.

So let me tell you, paw to heart, today Monty was more than the playful protector of joy. I was the Bulldog that bagged benevolence. I didn’t just chase my tail; I chased a better version of myself, carrots notwithstanding. Maybe tomorrow I’ll slip, maybe I won’t, but tonight, snuggled against Mammy, I feel like top dog. Because in Pawsburgh, even a mischief-maker with a heart of gold can be a ‘good boy’ – and that’s what’s really fetching.

The End.

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