Hey Mom,

Just had to share – I totally rocked the high-society scene in Pawsburgh tonight. I had the noble pooches eating out of my paw and Capella was by my side shining like always. Stayed clear of bath traps and kept my fur dignity intact! I even found some loot (a shoe, but shh). Miss snuggling up with you though; being king is fun, but it’s your hugs that rule my heart. Sweet dreams!

Tail wags and nose boops,
Koa 🐾✨

As the twilight kiss of the sun bade Pawsburgh goodnight, I found myself sauntering down Papillon Promenade with a sense of purpose twisting inside me. The blue and white of my coat shimmered under the starlight—the silent witnesses to my nightly escapades. The air was thick with the promise of adventure, and I, Koa, was ready to seize it. A warrior, not of battle but of charm.

“My dear Capella,” I murmured to the effervescent Toy Poodle by my side, her red coat a beacon among the ashen shadows. “The drama of the court awaits. Shall we indulge in the theatrics of Pawsburgh’s high society?”

“Indulge, we shall,” she trilled, and my heart sang with the thrill of our escapade.

We paraded with mirthful steps to Spitz Spire, the scent of Barking BBQ whirling through the air, teasing our senses. Pawsteps syncopated with my own ambitions; I was more than a cuddly companion—I was a thespian donning the role of a lifetime.

At the premiere soirée in Tail-Twitching Treats, the nobility of Pawsburgh was assembling. This was their scene, and I, Koa, was the star. Eyes danced over me, their whispers a garment of admiration I wore with pride.

“One does not merely sit at the head of the table,” I huffed, a drama of my own crafting playing at the corner of my lips, “One earns it.”

“Well,” Capella purred, “You certainly have them wrapped around your paw. Too bad they don’t offer Purina Pro Plan on these menus.”

“Ah, but I do enjoy the gastronomic theatrics here,” I quipped, my delight in diversifying my culinary experiences a playful undertone to my usual preference.

We reveled in the gossip that clung to the chandeliers, alight with the vibrance of Pawsburgh’s elite, for every canine of pedigree knew that whispers could both crown and condemn.

“They say Milo chews on shoes,” uttered a Dalmatian dowager, her spots casting a constellation of judgements across the room.

“It’s not the chewing, my dear—it’s the winning!” I barked back with a Dorothy Parker-esque wit, deflecting their prying. A shoe was not just a morsel to gnaw on—it was my hard-earned treasure, the prize of a playful warfare.

As the night unfurled, so did my disdain for the absent bath. The mere thought was a shudder rippling through my otherwise impervious guise. My fur would be desecrated by H2O, and I, a royal amongst dogs, would stand vulnerable—stripped of my armor. The horror!

Nevertheless, it was this vulnerability that crowned me, n’est-ce pas? That set me apart from the lesser breeds, the common canine rabble? Not all could handle the radiant spotlight as I did, certainly not with the aplomb of a French Bulldog.

The theatre of the evening waned, Capella and I, conquering heroes of charm and repartee. Though the noise and camaraderie were sustenance for my soul, my heart craved for something more.

I yearned for the quiet embrace of my beloved humans. A king retired to his domain, reminiscing on the folies of his reign—and yet, their absence panged within me, the solitude echoing like an unfinished sonnet.

So tonight, I curl next to the space where they slumber, my dreams peppered with tonight’s triumphs. Koa, the crowned, may be just a French Bulldog to the world, but in Pawsburgh, I reign supreme, master of all I survey. A regal specimen, a confidant to shoes, a beast bath-bedeviled.

By dawn, I am but a whispered legend, my courtly capers sealed within the hallowed halls of Pawsburgh. For every dog has his day, but only one wears the crown nightly—a crown of triumphs untold and victories savored in the sweet silence that heralds the dawn.

The End.