Hey fam!

Just brokered peace between Scooter and Rufus after a hairy showdown at the Groom Room. Turns out, a wise word and a nudge towards Pointer Pier solves more than Pawsburg’s canine capers! Who needs Fido’s Feast when you’ve got a family like ours? Off for a Whippet Wrap. Tail wags and love!

Dixie Cup 🐾✨

It was an ordinary Tuesday, or at least that’s what the humans thought, but in Pawsburg, ordinary was a word without meaning. My name’s Dixie Belle, and if you know me, you know I’ve got more sass than the annual Pawsburg Parade has wag. The morn found me stretched upon the sunlit grass of the dog park, my ears perked to the sky’s tales that only I cared to listen.

I decided today was the day I would trot to Fido’s Feast for a brunch with the kind of flavors that make a dame like me forget the dry kibble affairs of the everyday. ‘Twas all glee and gravy till I overheard a clowder of Siamese cats chittering by Canine Couture Clothing. Family drama, the worst sort, had clawed its way into my sunlit day.

My brother Scooter, you see, has the stubbornness of ten terriers and the tact of a bull in a china shop. He’d had a run-in with old man Rufus over at The Groom Room, somethin’ about a new-fangled fur style that Scooter deemed as proper as a fish on a bicycle. Rufus, mind you, has a temper as short as a Basset’s legs but a heart of solid gold. Scooter didn’t see that, though; he saw a battle to be won, and now the family was as split as a biscuit with too much butter.

Tucking Fido’s Feast in the back of my mind for another day, I swayed my way over to the scene at The Groom Room, heart-shaped mark catching the eye of every canine onlooker. It’s one thing to stand your ground, but quite another to dig a hole to China over nonsensical quibbles.

“Scooter,” I called, asserting the calm yet firm tone of a seasoned peacekeeper. Through The Groom Room’s windowpane, I saw his ears perk at the sound of my voice. That’s right, who could resist Dixie Belle?

“My dear sister!” Scooter’s voice rang with surprise and a dash of embarrassment as he troted out, a haircut that’d make a poodle blush, and eyes wide with defensiveness. Old man Rufus, sensing backup, came barreling right after him, gruffness in every step.

“Y’all actin’ as if Rufus here is trying to mute your barks,” I chided, a smirk playing on my muzzle. The gathered crowd leaned in; drama was the unofficial sport of Pawsburg, after all.

“It’s just hair, Scooter,” I continued, circling him with a sage air. “It grows back faster than you can say ‘Rabbit!’”

Scooter bristled. “But it’s the principle—”

“Principle?” I sniffed, my smirk widening. “Ain’t no principle in makin’ a mountain out of a molehill. Besides, Rufus could groom a shadow into lookin’ good.”

The tension hung like a bone just out of reach, till finally Scooter’s posture relaxed, and a chortle bubbled up from Rufus. I nudged my brother affectionately, provolone and bacon a distant memory next to the richness of reconciliations and kinship.

“That’s better,” I purred. “Now, what do ya say we all head to Pointer Pier? A walk’ll do us good, and I could kill for Whippet Wrap.”

Together, we lumbered off, a motley crew united once more. The lesson, my friends? In Pawsburg, with a hearty dose of charm and a wagging tail, ya can sail through even the stormiest of family squabbles—and maybe snag a tasty wrap while you’re at it.

The End.

Share This Story: