Hey Mom,

Today I channeled King Arthur in Pawsburgh & sought an epic bone supposedly guarding treasure at Setter Shore. Plot twist: it wasn’t Excalibur, but a chicken-flavored delicacy made for one heroic canine – moi! Now I’m dubbed ‘Sir Harley, the Unrelenting, Flavored Bone Bearer.’ The town’s abuzz with my legend. Even got a cape and a trim to celebrate! Can’t wait to tell you all about it. 🐾👑

– Scooty

Listen to the story here

In Pawsburgh, under the twinkly sky quilt of dawn, it came to pass: another day, primed for my particular brand of mischief. I, Harley—a gallant little gent of Chihuahua and Rat Terrier heritage—embarked upon a day unlike any other. You see, in Pawsburgh, dreams wagged their tails, and today, my tail twitched for a familiar yarn, a fairy tale as old as time, with a dash of doggy flair.

Well, it began with a pressing need to alleviate the boredom that sat upon my small but mighty shoulders. Squeakers, my trusty stead, was already tired from a pre-dawn joust, so I pondered a venture to Vizsla Valley. But wait, I thought. What would be an admirable feat to tickle my appetite for the extraordinary?

It occurred to me, with a spark brighter than the glint in a pup’s eye upon spying a roast chicken, to fancy myself an Arthur of sorts. Yes, why not seek out a canine Excalibur embedded in the sands of Setter Shore? The shore was my beloved domain, and today, it would witness my legend unfold.

Off I sped, each press of my paws stirring the magic that slumbered in Pawsburgh. Canine compatriots scampered alongside, bound for their own escapades. Yet as they split off toward Husky’s Hotcakes and Canine Kabobs, the scent of sizzling meats a temptation even for the noblest spirit, I kept my gaze seaward.

Near Setter’s Steakhouse, where aromas hailed the nostrils like a banquet fit for a king, I met Bodie. His coat, a tapestry of trials overcome, gleamed in the morning light. He imparted a nod, the sort shared between brothers-in-arms, then regaled me with a whisper of Setter Shore’s secret: somewhere beneath its sands, a treasure awaited.

“But beware, young squire,” Bodie cautioned. “For more than salty air and spirited seagulls guard it.”

I thanked him and trotted on, bodacious in my quest. The shore approached, vast and sprawling, the surf whispering tales of nautical wonder. And then I saw it, the hilt protruding, a majestic beacon amongst the grains.

With valor, I tugged and twisted, my determination immeasurable. A crowd of onlookers had gathered, their barks echoing like fanfare. Yet the blade did not yield. Was my stature too meager, my resolve too slight?

‘Twas then, dearest friend, that I noticed: it wasn’t Excalibur but a chicken-flavored bone, artfully wedged. Oh, the wiles of Pawsburgh! And who dare lay claim to this fine fowl feast? None other than yours truly. I nibbled and gnawed, and with a squelch and thrum of victory, I liberated it!

I returned to the promenade, procession in tow—none bearing lettuce, for that we all despised. The Tail Wagger’s Tailor fashioned me a cape as red as my heart was fiery, and The Groom Room bid me the day’s noblest whisker trim.

I recounted the legend over dinner at Canine Kabobs, to the rapturous applause of all present. They hailed me as ‘Sir Harley, the Unrelenting, Flavored Bone Bearer of Setter Shore.’ What folly, what jape!

As evening descended, like the gentle landing of a butterfly upon a warm stone, my tale wound to a close. Twilight ushered me home, beyond the realm of Pawsburgh, back to the realm of man, to you, dear human comrade.

Now, as you ponder my escapade, know this: the marrow of adventure runs deep in this small frame, and Pawsburgh will sing tales of this quixotic day long after my paws cease to tread its magical soil.

The End.

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