Hey Mom,

I just wowed Pawsburgh as the lead in Barker High’s first musical! My ‘Pavarotti’ bark stole the show and even survived Rocky’s squeaky distractions. Finished off with an afterparty fit for a K9 king! I’m coming home to your hugs as Pawsburgh’s newest star. High paws all around!

Woof and wags,
Santi 🐾🌟

So there I was in Pawsburgh, with the kind of buzzing anticipation that fills your snout before a big ol’ heaping of kibble. A musical, they said. Barker High’s first ever tail-wagging, paws-clapping, howl-along extravaganza. I, Santi, the Pitbull with a heart of pure gold and a throaty bark to match, was about to take center stage.

The adventure started on a whim, ya know? There I was on Quartz Qimmiq Quarter, indulging in a Whippet Wrap (delicious, by the way), when Bailey bounded up, her ears flopping with every leap. “You’re going for the musical, right? You’ve got the pipes of a canine Pavarotti!” she yipped, nuzzling my side in excitement.

I pondered the idea over a bite of my wrap. Me? In a musical? I’d sung for my supper before, serenading Mom with all the gusto of a lounge singer with a bone to pick, but this was different. Still, with Bailey’s big beagle eyes pleading, how could I say no?

First up, auditions. Took place right at the heart of Bichon Boulevard, which was busier than a flee market during scratch season. Pooches of all shapes and sizes, from Dalmatians to Doxies, fluffed their fur and tuned their baritones. I trotted onto the makeshift stage—by makeshift, I mean a rug someone found near the Pet Partners Pet Supply—and gave it my all. Belting out a husky rendition of “Barking in the Rain” must’ve done the trick because next thing I knew, I was in.

Bailey and I, we had this number, a duet called “Paws and Reflect”—catchy, right? I wore my heart on my furry sleeve, harmonizing with Bailey like peanut butter goes with everything.

Rehearsals were a howl, mostly. We’d sneak off to Briard Bridge for our secret practices, echoes of our vocals drifting over the waters like a call to supper. But it wasn’t all wagging tails and cheek licks.

The obstacles? Let’s see. Rocky the Rottweiler thought musicals were for the “less ruffian breeds” and tried to sabotage rehearsals by blaring squeak-toys during our big ballad. That rascal. Then there was the drama with the Daisy the Dachshund, who wanted every solo but couldn’t carry a melody in a bucket with a lid on it.

Still, the show must go on—if not for the fame, then for the treatos promised in the green room (Canine Kabobs, I’m lookin’ at you).

Show night arrived, and let me tell ya—the nerves made my fur stand on end like I was plugged into a socket. The crowd was rowdy, a veritable fur-nado of wagging tails and pricked ears. I could hear the anxious tap-tap-tapping of Bailey’s paws as we waited in the wings.

With a deep breath that drew in the scents of nervous pup and Mutt Munchies, we leaped into the spotlight. The tempo kicked up, and there it was—that magical moment when everything just clicks. Pawsburgh came alive with music; every bark in tune, every tail keeping time. And as Bailey and I hit the final note, hanging in the air like the scent of a well-earned steak, the applause erupted.

The afterparty at Best in Show Photography was a blur of flashbulbs and furry faces. But the real prize? Coming home to Mom’s hugs and the accolade of a simple “Who’s a good boy?” With my ratty old duck tucked under one paw and the echoes of applause still ringing in my ears, I knew—I was more than just a good boy. I was a star. A Pawsburgh star, a tale for the ages. High paws all around, am I right?

The End.