Hey there, it’s Pris! So, here’s the pup-dates: Met a gorgeous golden Lab over salmon and stories. Baxter was more surprised than the time I stole his bacon. Even got her to kinda-love my rubber duck. She’s new in Pawsburgh, same hate for vacuums! Say hello to a new tale in our dog-gone town! Barks and Wags, MC Priscilla 🐾🦴.

Listen to the story here

Aged whiskey under morning sunlight captured my eye, a pearlescent crystal bar glinting in Chestnut Cocker Courtyard. It was another morning at the dog park, and I glanced towards what earthly manner shut my eyes at night – Baxter, my co-conspirator.

Inside Bulldog’s BBQ was a morning as familiar as my tri-tinted coat. I strolled to our usual booth, squeaky duck tucked like a tommy gun under my pudgy figure. The smell of grilled salmon wafted through, tickling my refined palate. As much as the world understood us dogs, they never quite grasped the delicious subtlety beneath the scaly exterior of a salmon.

By now Baxter was next to me, ears twitching with alphabet soup of stories from Pawsburgh. From the Hound Heights to Doberman Dunes, he was as avid a story collector as he was a bacon fanatic. “Pops is still fighting the vacuum beast in Furry Friends Art Gallery, it seems,” Baxter recounted, a dry chuckle escaping his snout. Rex, a grizzled Dalmatian was an owner of a kind, only mute to the terror of the vacuum cleaner his humans adored.

As I chuckled at this, the morning sun caught something foreign. Next to the bookshelf stood a lady as sleek as a summer’s eve; a new arrival. Baxter followed my gaze, his brows arched in surprise. A Labrador with coffee-dark eyes and a coat as golden as honeyed pancake under morning sun had our attention. Baxter nudged me, whispering, “Looks like you’ve got competition for ‘most defined coat’ in Pawsburgh, Miss Priscilla.”

I rolled my eyes, making a poor attempt of concealing my awe for her. I tried to play down the heart galloping in my bulldog chest. “It takes more than a shining coat to win me over, Baxter,” chuckling, I watched as she stepped out, elegantly stretching in the autumn morning. “Maybe some vacation tales from Husky’s Hotcakes, or simple charm from The Canine Cafe?”

Baxter and I shared a moment of uproarious laughter, me waving my rubber duck as a frenzied conductor to our jovial symphony.

Post laughter, I smirked at him, my gaze returning to the neighboring booth. A grilled salmon platter sat before the stranger, her brown eyes glinting with familiar delight. A chill hung in the air as she bit into her fish, the room falling silent for a split second. The silence was soon broken by Baxter’s half-whispered, “She does love salmon, Priscilla.”

Well, bugger the salmon, this was Pawsburgh – love had as many faces as the dogs in town. Baxter knew what I was thinking, grinning as he raised an eyebrow, “A lady of subtle tastes”, as though reading my thoughts.

The rest of the day unfolded in laughter, whiskey, and stories with the golden newcomer. By evening, Baxter and I shunned Hound Heights and Doberman Dunes, for this lady entrapped our hearts and ears as she regaled us with her tales. She, as it turned out, was as much a food connoisseur as myself, a despiser of vacuum beasts, and an alien to the squeak of a rubber duck.

“Baxter, this dog-gone town of ours has been caught by surprise by a Labrador of all creatures”, I declared. Surprises and sameness danced in harmony at Pawsburgh. Love, not as much as a comedic tinkling in the park, but a delightful quirk, a captivating comedy in itself. I was in dawg-gone love.

The End.

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