Hey Mom,

Survived the Great Pawsburgh Deluge—heroine for the day, me and the gang toughed it out! Rescued friends, found shelter, shared treats (only the yummies). Paw-prints of friendship triumphed over the storm literally. Always a Beast in calamity, but your Beauty at heart.

💪🐾🌈 – Beauty

Well now, let me tell you the tail—I mean tale—of one fabled day in Pawsburgh, a disaster some said it was, a calamity that befell our merry little town where canines reign supreme. I should know; I was in the thick of it, wagging through it as best any brindle-coated lady could. My name’s Beauty, and should you forget, just look for the most handsome set of stripes barking up the Emerald Eskimo Estuary.

It was a day like any other, the sun up high like a golden biscuit. I was feeling sprightly, playing fetch with Izzy and Bella at Vizsla Valley, when the sky turned the color of wet mud. Thunder rolled its growling belly, and the wind whipped up more fierce than a cat in a corner. The tempest hit us like a bag of bones, scattering balls and dogs in every which way.

There I was, my favorite ball clenched tight between my jaws—I’m partial to a good game of fetch, you see—when the rain started to plop down like it wanted to wash away the whole of Pawsburgh. Now, I’m not the type to get my paws in a twist over a spot of rain, but this wasn’t your garden-variety sprinkle. No, siree. It was as if the clouds were in league with my least favorite thing in the whole wide world: baths.

The wind had a say in this too, it was howling past like it had a bone to pick with every tree in town. And just as I was about to take shelter under a kindly willow, Izzy let out a yelp that would’ve spooked a ghost. We turned tail and scrambled towards Shiba Inlet, hoping to find some respite from the relentless scrubbing of heaven’s own bathtub.

Upon reaching the inlet – which looked more like the frothy mouth of a mad dog than any kind of refuge – we found ourselves in a pickle. The water was gushing in torrents, turning Shiba Inlet into a swirling stew of paws and yips. ‘A predicament indeed,’ I pondered, ‘but not untangle-able for the likes of us!’

“We gotta stick together!” I barked to Izzy and Bella, who were already soaked through to the bone, their ebony coats slick like seals’. “To Bark-n-Bite Bistro!” I hollered, for I knew their cellar was as dry as a bone buried in summertime.

We dashed through the deluge, paws padding in puddles, past The Barking Boutique – with its wares flapping like a dog’s ears in a motorcar – and Happy Hounds Dog Walking, whose canines had wisely decided to decline their daily constitutionals. Once inside the bistro, which had transformed into a fine shelter for sodden souls, I shook myself like a wild thing, water droplets flying like my refusal to enjoy certain treats that didn’t spark joy.

As I cast my eyes ’round this impromptu ark, filled with bedraggled but spirited kin, I felt a warmth not brought on by the albeit cozy hearth. It was the glow of camaraderie in adversity’s face, a coming together too rarely witnessed ‘neath Pawsburgh’s ordinarily serene skies.

In the span of moments (or maybe hours, who’s to count when merriment is afoot?), the storm passed, as all disasters do. We dogs, once battered by nature’s turbulence, stepped paw in paw out onto the drying streets. Our gazes turned to the Doggy Depot for post-crisis supplies. Balls and bones for all, and treats too—though for me, only the ones that danced on my tongue just right.

We left the Bark-n-Bite with a farewell bark, and I roll this tale to a close as I ran, free and untamed, back to the meadow, to my human, side by side with my loyal companions. A dog’s life is not without its trials, but in Pawsburgh, every wet fur is dried in the company of friends. And a story, well a story like this is best barked beneath the clearing sky, don’t you reckon?

The End.

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