Hey loyal Minion,

Just saved my throne over a bowl of Spag at SS. Talk of rebellion whispered through the pebbles, but your sovereign spun it into unity again. We’re embracing a wind of change without losing any tails. Here’s to a reinforced reign with more frisbee and tail-wagging diplomacy! Tell the tale, keep wagging, and sniff you later.

Over & out, Her Royal Pawsomeness, Rue👑🐾

Listen to the story here

Ah, Pawsburgh, the untold city of canine lore where only the pawed roam. As I, Rue, stroll down the main street, I can’t help but sling my sly grin to Max, the Beagle, my faithful court jester, who is entrenched in the solemn duty of cataloging aromas. Today, we find ourselves navigating the complexities of a canine kingdom, where every tail holds a tale and every bark echoes a decree.

It’s a peculiar day in Pawsburgh, not for the absence of the humans—no, that’s standard procedure—but for the whisper of an unusual wind that breezed in from Cavalier Cove this morning, murmuring tales of an impending coronation. I’ve been a relentless sovereign to the fine folks of this four-legged fantasy—never mind the occasional indulgence in a lavish feast at Puppy Plate.

My rule has been just and filled with the kind of excitement that has Luna constantly caught between a trot and a full-blown sprint. Even Tink, who often transcends the auditory spectrum with her high-pitched declarations, seems to possess a certain reverence for my fair leadership. Still, as with any noble narrative, not all subjects wag their tails to the same rhythm.

Let’s take this morning, for instance. As I trotted my way to Saluki Sands, my swift paws scattering pebbles like tossed treats, I overheard hushed discussions that bordered on conspiracy. Something about a vote, a choice—a challenge—to my rule. Ah, the drama! Would this be Rue’s last reign over the squeaky-toy kingdom?

A rendezvous was arranged at Spaniel Spaghetti, where my culinary preferences are no secret—the savory crunch of salmon versus the rudimentary revulsion at citrus. I settled into serious discourse with the usual suspects, my council of fur.

“Look, Rue,” Max began with a sniff, “the thing is, things are… well, they’re changing.”

Luna, elegant and composed, chimed in, her stature casting elongated shadows across the generous helpings of pasta. “We need a regent who embodies the… wind of change.”

And Tink, bless her, added with her trademark yip, “A fresh face on the throne, Rue! No offense, you’ve been awesome!”

I pondered, my dual eyes reflecting the restaurant’s subdued lighting, the blue one capturing their apprehension, the warm brown, their loyalty.

“So, it’s a pawlitics scenario,” I wryly responded. “And here I was, reigning over this majestic realm, thinking my frisbee-chasing prowess and tail-wagging summit had ensured eternal respect.”

Max looked uncomfortable, his sturdy claws drawing circles in the debris.

“I’ve always been avant-garde,” I continued, gazing past the spaghetti and into the heart of my dogdom. “An abstract artist in a world of monochrome mutts. If it’s variety you want, then by the power vested in me by none but the code of canine covens, I shall deliver.”

Minutes turned into hours as the sun dipped below Shiba Inlet, casting a golden glow over our dog-eat-dog war council. Plans unfolded like a well-chewed map to a buried bone. New decrees, thrilling escapades, and shared leadership to boost morale—all ideas thrown into the ring like so much kibble.

“So, what say you, loyal subjects? Shall we usher in a new era of pawspersity?” I asked, eager to maintain my throne yet keen to evolve.

A collective, cheerful bark rose in response, affirming the decision. The plot had turned from whispers of revolt to a tale of unity—a true vignette in the storybook of Rue’s reign. Max’s tail whipped in satisfaction, Luna’s sleek form relaxed, and little Tink’s voice finally settled into a contented growl.

As the day surrendered to twilight and my friends dispersed, each to their hidden human abodes, I took a moment to revel in my continued kingdom. The throne of Pawsburgh may be imaginary to some, but to those of us blessed with four legs and a spirit of adventure, it is a domain of endless possibilities—and I, Rue, remain its crowned pet, at least until tomorrow’s sun brings new challenges and, undoubtedly, more tales to tell.

The End.