Lemon Dodgers: A Pawsburg Tail-Wagging Adventure: A Artic PawWord Story

Hey, just Artic here, your friendly hood pomsky! Had a wild day dodging citrus missiles atop Husky Hill. Apparently, canines + lemons = comedy gold. Rest assured, I emerged champion and still enjoying life in fun old Pawsburg. Anyways, gotta dash, the smell of beef jerky is calling! Bark Later. – Arctic Commando

Listen to the story here

Picture this, darlings: Pawsburg – a place where we four-legged folks can let loose, wagging tails and ears perkier than ever. It’s my regular haunt, I’m Artic, your aspiring frolicking protagonist Pomsky. However, the day I am about to tell you about was anything but regular.

It was a sunny Tuesday, and Roscoe was in full Beagle mischief mode, as you’d expect. We’d decided to scramble up to Husky Hill, after a quick snatch of Ruff-n-Ready’s to-go chow. For the record, I sweet-talked Roscoe into choosing the beef jerky flavored snacks. I mean, who can resist that?

The climb was full of our usual shenanigans, toy chases, minor squabbles, and endless laughter. The view from the top was glorious – an unending expanse of Pawsburg, glimmering with adventure, and undoubtedly, prospective food haunts.

Just as we were reveling in triumph, the wind shifted. The scent was unmistakable – citrus. Yes, the dreaded enemy – lemons. One look at Roscoe and I knew, he was in on this. The prankster had brought with him a bag of lemons, no doubt procured from the Howling Husky Hardware Store.

I could hear the sniggers of the other dogs. Suddenly, Husky Hill seemed less like a summit of victory and more like a podium of humiliation. “Hold on there, fur-face,” Roscoe taunted, holding up a lemon with a gleeful glint in his eyes.

But I, Artic, am not one to go down without a fight. As Roscoe made to roll the lemon at me, I spotted it – my savior – my squeaky duck toy, unceremoniously discarded in our climb.

With a swift dodge (and a rather impressive somersault, if I do say so myself), I grabbed the squeaky duck and tossed it expertly at Roscoe. The inevitable squeak distracted him, causing him to drop the bag of lemons, which rolled away, much to his and the audience’s surprise.

And can I just say? Lemon dodging might not make the finest spectacle, but the sight of a flustered Beagle is funnier than any citrus-based misery. “Retreat!” Roscoe hollered dramatically, fleeing from his own citrus arsenal.

The chorus of laughter that followed, was downright music to my ears. As we descended Husky Hill, with me leading (of course), I couldn’t help but feel that one thing was for sure – Even in the face of lemons, I still loved my doggy existence in Pawsburg. And folks, that’s what I call a tail-wagging end to a dog day drama. In your face, citrus!

The End.