Hey Mom,

Just wrapped up playing peacekeeper in Pawsburgh, where my Jack Russell charms brokered a truce between the feuding dog houses! Now, the pups nap together on the ‘Furry Throne’ instead of fighting over it. Turns out, I’m quite the diplomat… or should I say ‘dog-lomat’? Home soon for snuggles and treats!

Paws and kisses,
Skittles 🐾🌈👑

Well now, I reckon I must confess, the tale I’m about to unravel for y’all might startle the sensibilities of the faint-hearted, be they two-legged creatures or of the four-pawed variety. See, in the clandestine quarters of Pawsburgh, beneath the soft glow of the gibbous moon, intrigue and canine capers stir the pot of our little society.

‘Twas on such an eve that I, Skittles, the humble but shrewd Jack Russell-Chichi cross, found meself roaming the effervescent streets, baptized anew by the silver light. Harken to my tail—I mean tale, for this is the stuff of legends, whisperings of the Pet Throne Games, whispered ‘mongst the bowers of Jade Jack Russell Junction and the stately façades of Quartz Qimmiq Quarter.

I started me day as any other, basking under the warming rays in me backyard, chasing the fleeting dream rabbits that hop through the meadows of my slumber. But of course, some primal loyalty beckons, as it does each night, to the secret life we dogs lead in the twinkling twilight of Pawsburgh.

Crossing into the mystical land, I paid a visit to Pom’s Pies, where the aroma tantalizes the nostrils of dog and ghost alike. I supped lightly upon a morsel of shepherd’s pie. I’d need me strength for the coming escapades. Y’see, was in Pawsburgh that a most peculiar contest of cunning had sprung among the furred nobility.

Trouble had been brewing ‘tween the Houses of the Whiskered Whippets and the Bearded Beagles, each determined to sit upon the Furry Throne, a seat of such comfort it could turn the most docile pup into a growling cur. But I had me a plan.

Mosying ’round the corners of the Tail Wagger’s Tailor, I caught wind of whispers, eyeing the elaborate coats donned by the gallant and the vainglorious. I spied the grandeur they displayed but saw beyond, into their yearning souls. Gathering tidbits, listening to tall tales spun tall as the tallest Great Danes, I hatched a scheme.

Now, I’ve made the acquaintance of Tucker, the golden-haired scamp, and Rudy, that old wise spaniel, cohorts in calm and mischief. We ambled to Newfoundland Nook, where the rivers run rich with the salmon of serenity. In Pawsburgh, I reckon we three could meddle just enough to sway the tide without dirtying our paws. Subtlety’s the key, neatly picked with a paw and not a claw.

With tongue in cheek and tail held high, I approached Sir Barkley, leader of the Whippets, and whispered a rumor of a secret alliance. Not of treachery, mind you, but of an unspoken kinship ‘tween Fidos far and wide. Fueled now by mistrust toward his own ranks, Sir Barkley pondered over repast at Canine’s Cuisine.

I then sauntered, casual as a summer’s breeze, to the Beagles’ camp, dropping hints not of betrayal, but of honor misplaced. Dame Fluffers, matriarch of the Beagles, chewed on the bone of contention with a side of Retriever’s Restaurant’s finest.

Sure as the chase leads to capture, Sir Barkley and Dame Fluffers called a truce. Too exhausting were the Pet Throne Games when faced with paws crossed in guile. And so it was that I, subtle Skittles, brokered peace ‘tween the feuding factions.

Atop the Furry Throne now sits an ensemble of plush, crinkly-tailed lions, and dog kind dozes upon it in mutual contentment. ‘Tis no throne worth a brawl, but a bed for joint dreams, painted with stories of harmony among kith and kin, and a testament to the truth that the greatest power lies not in dominion, but in unity.

And so here I lay on me back, taking in the comforts of home once more, dreaming of tankards of cheese and toys abundant, knowing full well that tonight, I’ll slip away again to Pawsburgh, where the echoes of my paws will tell new tales, enchanting and bold.

The End.

Share This Story: