Yo, just won the Grand Pawsburgh Goblet! 🏆 Transformed from artist-to-athlete extraordin-hairy. 🎨➡️🏃‍♂️ Had to beat Whiskers’ attitude & Einstein’s brains. Totally epic! BTW, Sir Squeak-A-Lot says hi. We’re living the tail, one trophy at a time. 🐾 Archie-out! 🐶✌️

Listen to the story here

I’ll never forget that autumn morning when the sun winked at me through the drapes like it knew something I didn’t. That was the day we were to embark on the Grand Pawsburgh Goblet—an obstacle course race famous for turning fur friends into legends. The tantalizing fragrance of the earth after a light drizzle served as the perfect prelude to my perambulations. I, Archie, with my bohemian artist vibes and a nose for mischief, was ready to add that trophy to my collection.

I bounded out of the house, leaving a canvas speckled with my latest masterpiece—a piece that said, “This dog might have just walked through paint, but let’s call it abstract expressionism.” I was heading to Terrier Town, where the Goblet was set to commence. My ears flapped against the wind like banners of an incoming conqueror.

On my way, I picked up Sir Squeak-A-Lot. He’d seen me through thick and thin, and I felt a tad superstitious about leaving him behind with the olives—I shuddered at the thought. As I trotted down Affenpinscher Avenue, my belly rumbled, a gentle reminder of the delightful culinary adventures that awaited at Puppy Patisserie, but that was a treat for another time.

I met with Whiskers and Einstein at the starting line—you might be surprised by a cat in Pawsburgh, but Whiskers? She’s got more swagger than some of the purebreds I’ve seen flexing their pedigrees in The Barking Boutique windows. Einstein was arranging his puzzle pieces by color, an ‘athletic’ warm-up strategy he claimed honed his wits.

“All set, Archie?” Whiskers smirked, her tail flicking.

I respond with a nod, though my gaze was stationary on the towering ramps and looping tubes set out before us.

“We??” whispered Sir Squeak-A-Lot from beneath my paw. “Like you’re gonna do anything but watch!”

Einstein rolled his eyes. “Focus, Archie. Unless you’d rather hang at Spa for Paws while WE compete?”

I snorted. “In your sporty dreams, genius. Stick to your puzzles.”

With a howl, I was off, darting through the tunnels of Hound’s Hotdogs, across the wobbly planks above Pawfect Pastries, the claps and cheers of the crowd spurring me on. The olives from last night’s kitchen raid haunted me with their vile memory but served as fuel to run faster. Never again would I dare eat off the artist’s table. Mind over matter. Mind over olives.

I slid into Terrier Town like it was home base, the thrill of the chase pulsing through my veins. I scaled the wall with ease; each grip felt like grabbing sunbeams—natural, and yet a spectacle. I caught a glimpse of Einstein barking out Fibonacci sequences to time his jumps, while Whiskers used her feline finesse to conquer the balance beams. The scent of victory was close, nearly overtaken by the aroma of chicken from the judges’ booth.

With a final leap, I crossed the finish line, my trusty Sir Squeak-A-Lot firm in my mouth. The crowd erupted into a frenzy of barks and everything went blurry—probably from my shaking head, trophy held high.

Whiskers sauntered up, her grin suggesting she let me win, while Einstein simply nodded, respect in his intelligent eyes.

“Same time tomorrow?” I offered.

“Only if you promise not to chew on the new trophy,” Einstein replied, already lost in thought.

A snicker from Whiskers suggested she’d have her paws on it when the night fell. But for now, the moment was mine, and Pawsburgh had a new tale to whisper under its breath.

The End.

Share This Story: