Hey Dad,

You won’t believe the night I had! Pawsburg opened a new Dograssic Park with ancient breeds, and we got chased by a huge Molossus! Managed to calm it down with some beef chimichangas, thank goodness. Another wild adventure under the moonlight. Back home now, ready for some sunbathing and a cuddle.

Your lovable furball,
Nelson

When the moon hangs like a lantern in the ink-black sky, casting a dim glow on the silent houses of Earth, that’s when the magic portals open, and Pawsburg calls. Tonight, it wasn’t just any old Tuesday night ramble into Amber Akita Alley; tonight, it was time for a heart-thumping adventure that could put the curl back in even the flattest of tails.

Me? I’m Nelson, the English Bulldog with one blue eye that can catch a liar at fifty paces and one brown eye that swirls with a thousand stories. You already know me—downright lovable, especially when jouncing around in the backseat of Dad’s Jeep, the wind making my fur do a happy dance. But tonight? Tonight, we stepped into Dograssic Park.

The whole of Pawsburg was barking up a storm about it. “Ancient Breeds!” they yipped. “Impossible! Magnificent!” they howled. My pals Zach, the Border Collie with smarts you can’t buy, and Christine, a Beagle with a nose for both food and trouble, were already on site, their eyes wide as fire hydrants.

The entrance was a marvel—a bone-shaped gate at Pearl Papillon Promenade. It squeaked open with an almost musical creak, revealing lush landscapes more vibrant than a ball of yarn fresh from the dryer. Each leaf whispered secrets, each blade of grass sang songs of bygone eras.

“There it is, Nelson!” Zach woofed, his tail wagging with scholarly excitement. “Dograssic Park! Genetic marvels, ancient breeds brought back from the edge of oblivion!”

Christine danced on her paws. “The Tornjak, the Alaunt—breeds you only hear about in old dog legends! They’ve come back, Nelson, they’re real!”

My eyes, one blue, one brown, widened as we ambled through. The park wasn’t just a park; it was a sanctuary of the long-lost and the fabulously unfamiliar. Oh, the sights! The Tornjak stood grand and noble by the Bubbling Beagle Brook, its coat shimmering like moonlight on water.

But as Mark Twain might say, and as we soon discovered, human folly knows no bounds, and neither does canine curiosity. The Tornjak wasn’t alone. A massive form prowled near Bloodhound Bluffs—a canine so spectral, it could only be the Molossus, with muscles that rippled like the currents of an untamed river.

Suddenly, an electrifying crackle filled the air. Zach and Christine’s ears shot up as we saw the gates to the Molossus pen ajar. It had broken free.

“Run, Nelson!” Christine yelped, paws already in motion.

My heart thundered louder than Dad’s old pickup on a gravel road. We sprinted through the park, tails high, slipping past Sniffer’s Sandwiches and darting into The Pooch Playhouse—my beloved hangout. But this was no time for casual kibble talk.

This wasn’t just a bulldog vacation; this was a dive into untold history, a wrestle with wonder and the unknown, and darned if my brindled fur wasn’t standing on end.

The Molossus stormed past, heading straight for the Chihuahua’s Chimichangas. My mind raced: Perhaps the promise of beef could lure it away from causing a ruckus! The scent wafted through the night air, making even my own mouth water.

As we cornered the beast with the beefy fare, I barked in a tone as stern as Dad’s voice when he’s found one of his shoes as a victim of my playtime. “Settle down, big fella,” I woofed, hoping my reputation as Pawsburg’s diplomat would hold. “They got beef chimichangas aplenty; no need for a hullabaloo.”

Whether it was my voice or the tantalizing aroma, peace was restored. The Molossus huffed and puffed but ultimately trotted over to devour the meaty treat.

With dawn peeking over the horizon, it was time for our moonlit escapade to close. We gathered at The Furry Friends Art Gallery, sharing gleeful barks and tales of near-brushes with ancestral marvels.

As I clicked back into my routine, under Dad’s roof and the comforting jingle of his keys, I felt the weight of the adventure slide off, replaced with a renewed love for the simple joys: car rides, sunbathing, and the promise of a beef treat. Pawsburg had given me, Nelson, another story—a tale as old as time, wrapped in barks and sniffs, retold under the moonlight, and, like all good stories, ending with a cuddle and a peaceful sigh.

The End.