Hey Dad! 🐾 I’ve been keeping everyone laughing with my silly antics and heroic “squirrel-chasing” adventures! 🌟 Life’s never boring with me around. 😊 Love, your little slice of angel pie, Holly ❤️

Well, hello there, dear reader! It’s been a while since my paws have danced across these pages. You may know me as Holly, but my circle tightens ’round the moniker “Little Slice of Angel Pie”—though between us, I’d skip the trespass of humility and say I’ve been less of an angel and more of an…enthusiast of earthly delights.

Last night, as the moon cast silver spells on my dad’s backyard, the portal to Pawsburg shimmered into existence. It’s a magical town, you see, where we dogs slip off to when our humans are off snoring or chasing those peculiar things they call “jobs.” The rules are simple: no humans allowed and no spilling the beans about our wondrous excursions.

The first pitstop on Judgy ‘Ol Vicarious Vortex (my navigational name for the portal, of course) takes me to Jade Jack Russell Junction. Now, if you have a penchant for the energetic wiggles of tails, you’d feel right at home.

I dashed in, my white fur with brown speckled ears fluttering in the wind. “Hey Babes,” barked Hank the Harrier from Harrier Harbor. He’s got the bark of a sailor and the loyalty of a Lassie understudy.

“Hey Hank, fancy a meander to Biscuits and Bones Bakery?” I suggested, sniffing inwardly for the aromatic allure of peanut butter bones. “I’m all for chewing today.”

“Always do live life on the edge, don’t ya, Babyloo?” he howled with laughter. It’s true, my desire for food—magnificent, glorious food—is unrivaled. Off we trotted, me leading the waltz as usual.

Around the corner at Bloodhound Bluffs, we ran into Maya, a perceptive pug with a penchant for painting. “Holly,” she panted, “drop by Paws and Paint later. We’re making paw-traits!”

“Sounds paw-some,” I replied, giving her a friendly nudge. The tantalizing scent from Biscuits and Bones was too near and dear—a siren call to my very bulldog essence. Peanut butter-bathed bones awaited me!

Now, one minor glitch: I’d tidied up…well, everything. “Gluttony?” you’re inclined to ask. More like “Yappy Hour,” I’d retort. Even so, the bakery’s keeper, Brutus, rebuked: “Again, Holly? We have a line of corgis who would love a taste too.”

We settled for Pooch’s Pub next, where Sarge, a formidable German Shepherd, manned the doggie door. Sarge oversees fairness with an iron paw, but beneath that tough exterior, he’s a chewy, teddy-hearted softy. He snuck me some delectable treats, whispering conspiratorially, “Remember, moderation, Babes.”

Our escapade continued to the Puppy Patisserie, cherry-picked for its custard-filled éclairs shaped like Franken-biscuits. I slobbered a little.

Nightfall settled, like a thick blanket to our pawsily curated Disneyland. The grand finale for the evening was Paws and Paint, where I created a remarkably abstract work titled “Spots on Ears.” Maya persisted in painting my portrait—stubborn as a bulldog, I sat still.

Each adventure was an inch forward on my road to becoming “good” in the Pawsburg afterlife. But let’s be Dachshund-straight: I’ve my share of foibles. My antics often got me into hot dog water, but here I strive, among friends, to let the goodness flow, peanut butter bones or not.

As the paws and claws whispered secrets of the golden road home, I found myself thinking about tomorrow’s squeaky toy trials and bag-chasing tribulations.

“Next time, Holly!” Hank barked before fading back to his harbor haven.

Yes, next time, and there will always be a next. For in Pawsburg, good pet tales are spun from eccentric escapades, layered with echoes of jolly barks and infinite laps to run.

Until then, dear reader, may your dreams be as colorful as a Paws and Paint masterpiece, wagging with the joyful anticipation of another tale.