- Dog Tales
- May 12, 2024
Pawsburgh: A Tail’s Twitch Away: A Orlando PawWord Story
Hey Mom,
Just a quick pawdate: I channeled my inner DoggleBerry Finn today in Pawsburgh! Navigated the Mississippi on a raft, feasted like a king on superb chicken (no peas!), and rubbed paws with the local canines. Made it to Pyrenean Peak, crowned my adventures at the Golden Grub, and I’m back now, dreaming of freedom and belly rubs. The human world’s none the wiser to our secret doggie delights! đž
Tail wags and dream chases,
Orlando/Dando
I say, there are days in a dog’s life that are leaned into like a good scratch behind the ears, and then there are days which feel no less than a tall tail, spun under the whispering willows of Pawsburgh. I, Orlando, was about to embark upon such an uncommon escapade, enwoven with the spirit of that old rascal Huckleberry Finn, and all on a splendid morning ripe with adventures unfurling like a puppyâs first unkempt yawn.
It began with mischief glowing in the air like a harvest moon. The humans, bless their hearts, went on their own pilgrimage, leaving me naught but dust mites to conspire with. With a wag of my tail and an arched leap, I stealthily made my escape to that place where only paws patter and every fire hydrant is fair gameâPawsburgh.
My destination? None other than Pyrenean Peak, a legendary locale where the water sparkled like sapphires and stories billowed like sails. A little visit to The Wagging Tail Bookstore for a tale or two would set the tone for the journey downstream.
Pawsburgh, I might add, is the sort of place where Bill Brysonâs soul would waggle in delight. Dogs of all stripes and spots convened in a trove of conviviality, a long stretch of caninity unknown to the Sobersville of our humans. As I strutted down Sapphire Schnauzer Street, Peter, the poodle proprietor at Woof Waffles, tipped his chef’s hat. “Blessed morning, Orlando!” he barked. Aye, it was indeed.
The Mississippi, they said, had a heart that beats beneath the barks and a soul that streams deeper than its waters. This very morning I stood at its bank, waves whispering promises of unbound freedom. A raft of golden timber awaited, as if Huck himself had left it just for me.
With careful bearance, I boarded, partly because of my adventurous heart and partly because it seemed a delightful spot to chase the shadows. The journey, by all sniffs and whiskers, was a revelation. Each ripple on the water was like the furrows in Whiskersâ forehead when he waxed philosophicalâendless and profound.
As the sun made its gentle arc across the sky, I caught the scent of roasted chicken, and it wasn’t long before the shores of Canine’s Cuisine appeared, boasting a feast fit for a roving Shih Tzu. The memory of my human’s delicacies paled in comparison to what lay before meâsucculent, saporous, and splendidly chicken. Peas were, naturally, conspicuously absent.
The day passed like a dream where every paw print I left upon this world seemed to tell a story. Companions of every breed bid me bon voyage at every bend; a terrier with his head cocked sideways, beagles belly laughing over my jestâa truly potluck parade of personalities.
When the crimson spilled across the sky, whispering the day’s end, I found myself at none other than the Pyrenean Peak. Its grandeur outdone only by the revelry at the Golden Grub which glimmered below, a beacon of jubilation where every bark celebrates the setting sun, and every tail twirl is a testament to the joy of Pawsburgh.
By moonlight, with belly full and heart content, I sauntered home. The humans would never suspect the yarns that filled my day. If they only knew, perhaps there’d be less of the leashes and more liberty; more faith in the frolics that only a being of my breed could truly understand.
But until that day, they can find me curled up by the willow, my eyes glazed with the echoes of adventure, paws twitching, chasing shadowy rabbits in my sleep. For in the true spirit of DoggleBerry Finn, I had sailed the river, the bark of freedom resounding with each wave, ears flopping like banners in the wind. And Pawsburgh, well, it was merely a tail’s twitch away.
The End.
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