Hey human,

Just finished saving Pawsburgh’s parade with my pals Klaus and Rayne. Found the culprit, a moody Frenchie named Gaston, but turned him into a parade hero! Also, I’ve got a secret pickle stash now, so it’s a tail-waggin’ win. Remember, the best stories—and parades—have room for everyone. 🐾

Catch you at the next doggy shindig,

Xander “The Pawsburgh Protector”

Listen to the story here

I must say, even in a town as charmingly quirky as Pawsburgh, a dog cannot expect every day to smell like fresh bacon. But, it was that special time of year again, the Thanksgiving Day Parade was around the tail… I mean, the corner! That’s when things went hairier than a Saint Bernard in summer.

Now, I, Xander the Pittbull, am the four-legged equivalent of whichever dashing human hero you fancy. I’ve got the curiosity of a cat—forgive the expression—and a heart that beats for the thrill of the chase (especially when that chase involves my squeaky shark toy). So naturally, when decorations started to come undone and floats looked sadder than Brewster the Beagle on a diet, I knew adventure was barking my way.

With my compatriots, Klaus the Dachshund and Rayne the Retriever, we followed the trail of torn bunting and pilfered pumpkin pies. My black-and-white ears, so often a metaphor for my dichotomous nature, twitched at every clue. It wasn’t all intense sniffing, mind you. Klaus’s unsuccessful flirtations with a silver-furred Afghan hound provided ample comic relief. Bless him, for persistence is not as fetching as he would hope.

Between the capers and the calamity, there were heartfelt moments, too. Rayne, much to her embarrassment, found herself smitten with the clumsy charm of the local hardware store’s Rottweiler. Watching her navigate the hammering heartbeats reminded me of my own Achilles’ heel—pickles. A love not many understood, but it didn’t stop me from savouring it.

The saboteur’s motives were beyond understanding, or so it seemed—until we found him. A disgruntled French Bulldog named Gaston, ousted from the parade for an unbecoming incident involving a Thanksgiving turkey float and some unfortunate deflation. The poor pup felt as welcome as a cat at a canine choir.

Oh, the drama! The sabotage! And the laughter, mostly coming at my expense when my graceful chase resulted in a rather ungraceful tumble into Saluki Sands. My friends will never let me live down the spectacle of me spitting out sand like it was last year’s kibble.

But as romances blossomed amidst our ranks, and Gaston looked on, jealousy-lined his jowly expression. The solution was as clear as clarity could be; we needed to extend a paw in friendship, and perhaps more. With a bit of tender coaxing from Rayne—who was quite adept at handling stubborn males—Gaston commenced to join our cause. Soon, his resourcefulness redecorated Spitz Spire better than any festive frippery.

The parade turned out to be a smorgasbord of camaraderie. Canine’s Cuisine served a buffet fit for a king’s kennel, while Fido’s Feast provided a spread that had our tails wagging faster than the beat of a disco tune. We danced, we dined, and the former menace, Gaston, found himself at the helm of a float, guiding it as if he had been part of our crew since puppyhood.

As Opal Pomeranian Park filled with cheers and doggy grins, my friends surrounded me, joy etched into their faces, and gratitude in their hearts—for inclusion, for new bonds, and for pickles served discreetly under the table by an understanding Husky at Husky’s Hotcakes.

You see, the tale I live to tell isn’t just about how I and my flea-fighting heroes saved the parade. It’s about how we opened our circle, took a leap of doggy faith, and discovered the purest joy comes from giving thanks, not just for what we have, but for whom we can share it with. And so, the romantic entanglements and the hearty chuckles of the day left Pawsburgh not just with a parade to remember, but tales of friendship and love to warm us through the coldest of nights.

The End.