Hey Mom,
Just wanted to let you know I’ve been helping the neighbors find their lost toys and keeping everyone’s spirits up with my wagging tail – it’s been quite the adventure! 🐾 Love you, Sugar Booger

Well now, I reckon it’s time I told y’all about the most rootin’-tootin’ adventure we’ve had in Pawsburg. The name’s River Bottom—yep, a Black Labrador Retriever with a white patch on my chest, and folks round here know me by my alias, Sugar Booger. But enough of them pleasantries; let’s get to the tail-waggin’ tale.

Pawsburg, y’see, is a magical haven for us dogs. When the humans got their heads on pillows or went off to them jobs, we snuck here for some mighty fine adventurin’. Anyhow, one night felt different from the git-go. The moon hung big and shiny like a Purina silver disc, and a sneakin’ suspicion rolled over my fur.

I trotted into Pomeranian Park under that silver glow, where Weimaraner Woods touches the horizon like a big ol’ rug. Thar in the bushes, I spotted ol’ Daisy, a Pomeranian gal with a big bark and bigger heart. She was rambling ’bout a ruckus down in Terrier Town and how the Sniff and Shop General Store had been hit by bandit cats. Rufflements like that needed settlin’, so I high-tailed it to the clubhouse.

Our clubhouse, made outta settin’ stones and moonbeams, was nestled pridely in Weimaraner Woods. Inside, a ragtag gang of mutts and purebreds was gathered ‘round. Sailor, the Bernese Mountain Dog, presided at the head like a captain steerage, and Spud from the setter family was sprawled out with a distracted slobber.

“Doggone it, Spud!” I hollered, stridin’ in. “We got ourselves a problem! Them bandit cats are fixin’ to take over Terrier Town if we don’t hump it!”

Everyone’s ears perked up. Sailor scratched behind one ear and said, “River’s right. It’s time we protect our turf. Gear up at Pawprint Pizzeria and stock up at The Puppy Pantry. Any questions?”

Half a woof and a bark later, we were southbound, growlin’ wheels blazing trails under our paws. Ruff Riders of Pawsburg MC, off to deliver a message those bandit cats wouldn’t soon forget.

Setter’s Steakhouse was quiet as we passed it, but we were gunning for Pomeranian Park first. Alas, we barged into The Puppy Pantry where Miss Bella, the conscientious Dachshund, was already throwing food supplies into saddlebags.

“Ya here to butt in on some cat business?” she asked, snappish.

“Surely not,” I replied, sniffling a sniff. “Just gatherin’ our vittles.”

With our tummies packed and carts full, we scurried over to the battle scene faster than a Greyhound on chase. Lights flickered in the dusty trail of Terrier Town. Those alley-bred felines were loungin’ like they owned the place.

“Not so fast, puddytats!” hollered Spud, a bit of a mutt-ly laugh in his roar. “This here’s dog territory!”

The cats hissed and swelled up in fur-balls of rage while we fanned out in a circle, each soul ready. I squared up to the biggest, nastiest tabby with a coat strung like oily hemp.

“Git on, ya thievin’ tom!” I barked.

The tabby bristled, then scarpered into the trees yowlin’ for his momma. And like dominoes down they fell, a scatter of whiskers and fluff heading to the hills. Victory, sweet and smelly, filled the Terrier air.

We huddled up in triumph. “Tonight,” said Sailor, pride gleaming in his eyes, “we protected what’s ours.”

And as dawn streaked gold across the sky, us Ruff Riders wagged back, wearied but unbroken. Folks say Pawsburg was quieter for a spell, thanks to old River Bottom and his furry outlaw friends.

Y’know, next night I told my momma ’bout the admiration and adventure, that’s surely squirrel-spun truth. So, here’s to the next you hear from Pawsburg. Until then, keep those tails a-waggin’.