Hey Dad,

Guess who just turned fairy-tale hero in a dog’s paradise called Pawsburgh! Fought with dragon-ish toys, feasted at The Woofy Bakery, and co-authored a legendary book with my tail-wagging chum, Samson. It’s a doggone wild ride when you’ve got four paws and a sniffer for adventure. Will bark all about it when you get home!

Tail wags and face licks,
Luna 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

In the dappled light of my human’s living room, where my bed lay—a throne of coziness—I stretched, shaking off the remnants of a lazy afternoon nap. I’m Luna. You know me, the redhead with a spark in her eye. I’ve got tales that could make your tail wag, but none so daring as my secret jaunt to Pawsburgh, where legend has it that furry souls find their true calling.

Ah, Pawsburgh, a land of the free, where the humdrum of collars and leashes fades into the dust, carried away by the mirthful wind through Doberman Dunes and over Terrier Town. But it was on Bichon Boulevard where my story truly takes a twist.

It began quite curiously, as I came upon The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium. Yes, you heard that right—a shop named after our natural adversaries, but Pawsburgh is a place of peace, and even felines have their quirky charm. Inside, shelves boasted treasures untold, but one particular item caught my eye—a squeaky ball unlike any other. Embedded within its rubbery depths lay the image of a formidable dragon, deviously grinning as if challenging me to a duel.

I pounced on it.

Now, no hero’s journey is ever without a sacred haunt. Canine Cafe, Chowhound’s Chophouse, and Tail-Twitching Treats—a trifecta where even the snootiest of snouts could find satisfaction. But don’t let the aromatic allure of grilled chicken skewers or the tantalizing visions of diced hamburger specials fool you. My heart longed for the subtler pleasures of crisp veggies garnished with a pinch of cheese—The Woofy Bakery’s pride.

My stomach satiated, I looked towards the horizon—or rather, the end of the street—where The Wagging Tail Bookstore beckoned. The volumes held within told of legends, comedies, and fairytales, but none so compelling as my own.

As I trotted forth, the question emerged: What awaited a humble, albeit illustriously reddish, dachshund in Pawsburgh’s haven of tales and lore? The answer came in the form of a resounding bark, one that quavered through the air, warm and familiar—Samson. His Catahoula spots were marks of distinction, and his steadfast heart rivalled only by his love for yours truly.

“Luna!” he called. There was urgency in his bark.

I raced to him, finding him with paws restlessly pawing over the ground at Bichon Boulevard’s end. Before him, a grand book lay wide open, its pages blank as the untold stories of a newborn pup.

“We must write our own fairy tale,” Samson said, determined, his soulful eyes gleaming with the very essence of adventure.

“Then we shall,” I replied, the mischief in my gaze matching his earnestness.

Together, we plunged into the blank pages, and our adventure unfolded like a red carpet at a gala of dreams. We drew from the classic tales, inserting our daring escapades into the frames of familiar stories, but always spinning them anew.

Imagine, if you will, a land where Red Riding Hoods aren’t so little, and they beckon the wolves to play fetch in cascading sunbeams. Where beanstalks grow not to the sky, but into snug nooks perfect for an afternoon snooze.

Our tale was one of courage and companionship, wittily crafted in a world freed from the tethers of mundane life, a dance of two souls unbridled by the waking world’s fetters.

The sun dipped below Pawsburgh’s horizon as we closed our grand book, the tale complete, the magic sealed within. Samson’s tail wagged contentedly—a gesture surpassed only by my own heart leaping for joy.

“Until next time,” he whispered.

“And there will be a next time,” I assured.

With the dragon-squeaky ball firmly between my teeth, I bid farewell to the charming chaos of Pawsburgh. As I awoke, nestled in my sun-kissed corner, my human could hardly guess at the grand adventure etched in a wag, a tale of love, bravery, and a peculiar town reserved for the delight of dogs.

The End.