Hey Mom,

Just conquered Pyrenean Peak with Buddy – philosophizing about life, goodness, and my quest to be more than just a tail-chasing, car-riding pup. Trying to leave paw prints of virtue in Pawsburgh and maybe, just maybe, making friends with a cat tomorrow. LOL. Expect fun tales and some feline additions to our family album soon. Hugs and face licks,

Bay Bay 🐾🐶

As I darted through the shimmering gateway of Pawsburgh, the jingle of my collar was a symphony announcing my arrival—or so I like to imagine. Today felt different, and I couldn’t quite pin my paw on why as I took my morning sprint down Pearl Papillon Promenade. I smell hints of the Paw-tisserie’s fresh-baked brioche, and just for a second, I considered being that dog. You know, the continental one who savors bites between philosophical musings. But the savory waffles from Woof Waffles beckon.

I sat by a bush, the ultimate philosopher’s stone, if you will, when it hit me: what if I work on becoming a better… Baylen? I chewed on the thought, and not like how I chomp on my toys, but really mulled it over.

“Baylen!” Buddy barked from a mile away—or was it just across the street? “What are you mooning over there for?”

“I am contemplating existence, Buddy,” I told him sagely. “The afterlife kind.”

We trotted up Pyrenean Peak, our paws against dirt, against time. Buddy trotted his philosophy on about the obstacles, and I let it wash over me, like water when I hop into the pool back home—my sanctuary.

“I’m a good dog, right?” I ask, casually, my tail doing that thing it does when uncertainty makes its unwelcome cameo.

“Don’t start with your existential dog-crisis now, we’re halfway up the peak,” Buddy panted, his ebony eyes rolling in a sort of fond exasperation.

Halfway? Goodness, the hours I could spend here. Pawsburgh teemed with tales, our very own doggy utopia, and I was a river of stories, each adventure a tributary to the grand watershed of life.

I pondered on my chase for goodness. What does it mean to be a ‘good’ dog? I’m good, I don’t chew things I’m not supposed to anymore—except for that one slip-up with grandma’s slipper. I protect and love with every fiber of my being, but I guess I could give cats another chance?

“Oh, and Baylen,” Buddy chortles, nipping at my ear, “since when were you so pensive? Isn’t there a frisbee with your name on that needs catching?”

Indeed. But who was this Baylen? A fluffy guardian of hearts and homes on Earth, now aspiring for celestial greatness – a pawprint in Pawsburgh’s sands of eternity. Maybe, just maybe, there’s more to life than satisfying scratch sessions and tail-chasing escapades.

Like the exemplary citizens of The Good Place, I aspired to reminisce about my earthly frolics while striving to be my utmost best. How could I not when our after-paradise whispered sagas of valor and virtue, of joyous barks and jubilant leaps?

As dusk befell Eskimo Estuary, the tangerine glow of the sky mirrored my resolve. It’s never too late to be good or better or best.

“I want to be well-remembered, Buddy. Not just as the dog who loved the pool and car rides, but as… a dog of virtue.”

Buddy wagged his tail, that moonless night fur of his ruffled by the wind. We ambled towards Spa for Paws, still, I revisited my musings. As we neared, a part of me knew, tomorrow, I’d likely be distracted by the scent of a rabbit or a rascal squirrel.

Yet, in the soft blanket of evening, as we passed the lit windows of Chowhound’s Chophouse with the promise of meaty delights, I pledged—tomorrow, I’d be a little better than today. And maybe even chase a cat for fun, a friendly jaunt to show no hard feelings, and earn a new feline friend along my path to canine sainthood.

In Pawsburgh, every heart I touch remembers, for I’m Baylen, and I’m etching my story in the annals of good dogs everywhere.

The End.