Hey fam 👋,

Turns out, The Pet Bachelor life isn’t all it’s barked up to be. Went on dates, played fetch, savored the finest kibble – but in the end, the best company is you guys and the comfort of home. Turns out this Bull Mastiff’s heart is loyal to just one pack. Can’t wait to plop down by the fire with you all.

Catch you at the usual spot,

Butkus 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

What a day awaits in Pawsburgh, that clandestine haven where the brazen scent of adventure fills the air just as readily as the aroma of Shepherd’s Shawarma. And here am I, Butkus, the Bull Mastiff of some repute, about to, quite unwittingly, partake in the grandest escapade of the heart.

The day began with a stroll to The Pampered Pooch Salon, a necessity before any eminent occasion. I’m not one to dote upon reflections in mirrors, but a good buff to the tan coat is always apropos. They snipped and brushed, as I dreamily pondered the coming event — a spectacle I’d soon learn was named “The Pet Bachelor.”

Emerged from the salon, resplendent, I ambled to Kelpie Keys, where the waters whispered tales of canine lore. There, I met the assembly of four-pawed heartseekers, a bevy as vibrant as the spectrum that graces our skies after a springtime squall. They batted their lashes and presented toys—a plethora, each more enticing than the last, yet none could outshine the humble trinket nestled safely at home.

The game began. Fetch by the waters of Doberman Dunes, drenched in salt and sunshine—it was the premiere date, an exhibit of my physical prowess. The relentless pursuit of a well-thrown ball, soaring like the aspirations of every fetching lass by my side. But, as much as the chase thrilled, no squeak or bounce could ensnare my heart.

The plot twisted once we dined at Husky’s Hotcakes, that house of griddled delights. My suitresses tried to beguile me with their knowledge of my culinary passions, but the plate before me held no candle to the savory banquet of my daily repast. Even the syrupy sweetness felt, at that moment, as hollow as an unfilled chew toy.

Amidst the hallowed trees of Garnet Greyhound Grove, we strode. Our conversations danced from the trivial to the profound – the canine equivalent of discussing both the weather and the meaning of life. There, draped in the arms of mother nature, the romantic pageant played on.

A silent film actress from the twenties attempted to woo me with legends of her bloodline, while a spirited terrier of no fixed breed recounted her travels to the most luxuriant fire hydrants of the continent.

“Woof,” I averred, in the manner of Thurber’s own meek Walter Mitty, yet the conviction lacked. For beneath the following eyes and wagging tails, I found not the spark that should ignite a Bull Mastiff’s soul. Even as the crescent moon took its station as a sentinel to the night, the anticipated connection eluded me.

The Bark Buffet beckoned—a cornucopia of tastes to eclipse even the most diverse palate. Yet, with each nibble and shared glance, the realization settled upon me like the heaviest of collars. This baffling parade of affection, it seemed a curious song belted without a choir. For as the carousel of courtship spun, a truth clung stubbornly to the marrow of my bones: the greatest joy is found not in the fervent flattery of many, but in the unwavering loyalty to one.

As I parted ways with my gentle court, and whispered ‘farewell’ beneath Doberman Dunes’ lunar glow, there lay ahead the surety of an unguarded hearth, a cherished toy, and—most of all—the simple pleasure of a tale’s end, resting in the familiar embrace of my human family.

Indeed, let this chronicle of Butkus serve as a testament: Sometimes, even in a land as wondrous as Pawsburgh, the grandest adventure is found on the well-trodden path home.

The End.

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