Hey human, Montgomery here. Just wanted to let you know I’ve been pretty busy being the unofficial mayor of Pawsburgh. Marked a new beginning at the solstice, chased the sun, and conquered the lake like a furry hero in an epic saga. Catch up soon—there are stories to share and BBQs to dream about! Regards, The Pryde of Pawsburgh 😉🐾

Listen to the story here

I woke to the serene silence that cloaked Pawsburgh in the pre-dawn hours, my deep, rhythmic breathing the only sound cascading through the room. Today, the usual bustle of the joint would wait; it was the kind of day where the air thrums with something electric, unseen.

I slipped from the confines of my human’s abode with a grace unbefitting my sturdy frame, the memories of their tender scratches behind my ears still lingering like a whispered promise. As the cool morning air brushed against my fur, I trotted towards Affenpinscher Avenue.

My destination? Bulldog’s BBQ, famous for chicken grilled to a canine’s idea of perfection, a sinful homage to gastronomic heaven that made the disdainful memory of peanut butter fade to black.

Sauntering down the whimsical cobblestones, I shared nods and tail wags with the early risers. Lady Fluff, with her dainty steps, shot me a knowing glance. “Big day, Monty,” she yipped, the cheer in her voice betraying her usual prissy demeanor.

“Every day’s a grand affair if you play your cards right,” I shot back, grinning ear to floppy ear.

As I dibbled down Affenpinscher Avenue, Sir Sniffsalot joined our merriment. “Marking the solstice, are we?” His wisdom always carried in his rumbly drawl, as if every word was to be savored like a rare treat.

“More like marking new beginnings,” I responded, with a sparkle in my eye that mirrored the dawn’s first light.

We hit a trot, Lady Fluff’s pom-pom tail a blur, Sir Sniffsalot’s snout sniffing the air, as we made our way to Diamond Doberman Dunes. Pawsburgh knows no sovereign, but on days like this, we were monarchs of all we surveyed.

I dug my paws into the sand, the granules whispering secrets of the earth beneath. It was here the dream kicked in full tilt – the kind of dream that had one chasing the horizon, believing that if you ran hard enough, fast enough, you could catch the sun and pin it to the sky forever.

The race was exuberant, a million heartbeats spelling out the word ‘alive’ in Morse code. We howled as we pierced the veil of decorum these hallowed sands usually expected, and it was all as real as the blood pumping through my veins.

Later, at Cocker Courtyard, a raucous display unfolded; every storied friend I had was there. We swapped tales that were tall enough to scale the heavens and dipped our snouts into bowls of water that reflected our grinning mugs.

It was an eclectic tapestry – Retriever’s Restaurant hailed us with scents of culinary genius, and at Labrador Lunch, stories chewed over crumbed morsels turned into legends.

Twilight fell, a cloak woven from the night’s velvet, draping over Pawsburgh as I lay by my Shangri-La – the lake, the nucleus of my solace. Gentle ripples kissed the shore, a lover’s tender caress, and here, in the heart of this canine utopia, I conquered my fears. The water beckoned, and I, Montgomery, embraced the unknown for it was not the water itself I feared, but the thought of being less than what I could become in its depths.

The rain could fall, and I would stand, a bastion against the wet barrage, the reigning champion of Pawsburgh, a legend wrapped in blue and white, a hero of my own epic, the Pryde of Pawsburgh.

The End.