Dearest Human,

The star of ‘The Pet Bachelor,’ I romanced under Pawsburgh’s moonlit skies, tails waggin’ and hearts aflutter. Between sniffs and snouts, a Beagle’s gaze held promises. Love found? You’ll know come dawn. Sweet dreams.

Affectionately,
Apollo 🐾

Listen to the story here

Ah, the curious case of Pawsburgh, a nocturne of doggone delight – perhaps just what you’d dismiss as the fanciful rumblings of a Pitbull-Mastiff gentleman such as myself. Goodwell, this night a fresh caper unfolded, not in my verdant backyard but within the whimsical bounds of that clandestine borough of bark and bone, Pawsburgh.

A dog of my standing, and a figure of such genial composition as you know, found himself unwittingly cast in a tale of the heart – an escapade titled ‘The Pet Bachelor.’ Indeed, a chuckle must have escaped from between my jowls upon learning that I, Apollo, was the desideratum of this year’s fetching soiree.

The affair commenced upon the gloriously retro cobbles of Affenpinscher Avenue, where a procession of eager aspirants awaited. They’d gathered from the four corners of the dogdom, each poised to vie for my affection, hearts brandished upon their furry sleeves. As an Englishmen dapper in his demeanor yet democratic in his tastes, I made my entry, denouncing the unwarranted trappings of reverence with a wag and a casual bow to the assembly. “Ladies,” I greeted, “I am but a mere mortal in this temple of adoration.”

Onyx Otterhound Oasis provided the first juncture for our little courtship revelry and what a fanciful soiree it undeniably was. I led my ensemble of lady loves through the casino’s entrance, whereupon I was accosted by a Dachshund draped in a gaudy tutu – an entrepreneur of sorts, offering wagers on the outcome of my very own amours!

As the mingling ensued, I espied that Terrier Tacos had sent forth a spread to celebrate our meet and greet. Refraining from the tacos with a hint of cinnamon, I savored a tipple of water from Basenji Bay, its sumptuous licks commingled with the flavor of green apples procured from Pup’s Poutine.

Midst taco and tale, a brief commotion caught my attention by the Tail Wagger’s Tailor, where a Pomeranian in a bespoke frock had her eye on a bow tie of peculiar design – a piece I had reveled in myself on many an occasion. It all seemed a touch too decadent, a touch too wrought, my dear reader.

Our moonlit gambol led us through the tents of The Barking Boutique, the air perfumed with scents of lavender and fresh tennis balls. My lady suitors endeavored to entice with gifts of simple toys – rawhide, a ball, an old tire, all nodding to my unadorned tastes. A sort of silent diplomacy this, speaking volumes of their intent and strategy.

But beyond the accoutrements and flirtation, a spirit of camaraderie flourished among us. It was at The Snooty Snout Boutique where I first sensed the twinkle in the eye of a polite Beagle miss. Her gesture towards a green apple-flavored scarf coaxed a shared, wistful reverence for my favored fruit.

As the evening waned, the ladies of Pawsburgh presented not just their hopes for the rosette emblazoned with my visage but revealed their yarns woven with whimsy and woe. With Max and Alvin’s counsel, companions true and squirrelly, we retired under an alabaster moon, solemn in our judgements.

And there it was: Love’s labor lost and found within a theatre of singing snouts and pattering paws. A competition most bizarre, where I stood at its nexus, not as a judge but as a fellow sojourner, coursing through the tapestry of Pawsburgh.

In my borrowed solitude, as I slinked back to my humans who would sleep soundly, unaware of my escapades, I pondered on the romance of it all. Did I find love amidst this affectionate fray? My tail stirred a wistful arc as I crossed into the mortal realm, leaving my heart and my adventures in Pawsburgh, to be continued at the next rising of the moon.

The End.

Share This Story: