Hey Mom,

Had a royal blast leading the fur-ocracy today! Got the whole tail-wagging elite of Pawsburg to wag even harder for a festival where every pup’s a top dog – yep, true democracy in doggo style. No more just chasing titles, we’re chasing fun and unity!

Catch you later for snuggles and dreams of squirrels,
Your Boony 🐾👑

Listen to the story here

In the hushed pawsteps of dawn, I, Bruno, first of his name and sovereign of the chew toys, pranced through the cobbled streets of Pawsburg. Today was unlike any other, for word had spread that a royal assembly was to gather at the majestic Onyx Otterhound Oasis, where matters of the utmost importance were to be discussed, or so the collie couriers had barked.

Upon my arrival, the buzz of the Schnauzer Street market filled the air, and aromas wafted from the Paw-tisserie. I resisted the call of their delicacies; a monarch must not show weakness for croissants, not when duty barks.

I marched onward, navigating through the hustle and bustle. Pawsburg’s subjects nodded in respect as I trotted past; even the imposing mastiffs bowed their brawny heads—an unspoken rule in our town that size does not dictate honor.

As the crowds thinned, I approached the Dachshund’s Deli, tempted by the scent of gourmet biscuits. There, Bella and Danny awaited, their tails a-whirring like twin propellers, ready for discourse over the latest palace gossip. We exchanged pleasantries, and they reported on the whispers that had been fluttering around the watering bowls.

The clinking of my collar signaled our exit, and together we scampered to the oasis, our petite paws synchronized in purpose and pride. We greeted our fellow aristocrats, from the regal Retrievers to the poised Pomeranians. I graced them each with an approving sniff—a kingly acknowledgement.

Upon a raised terrace, sheltered by the shade of an ancient weeping willow, the gathering commenced. I listened as petticoat-wearing Beagles and pinstriped Terriers deliberated over matters of the land: whispers of a new park with endless squirrels and proposals for a grand festival to dance under the crescent moon.

As I sat there, my inner thoughts humming like the dratted vacuum cleaner back home, a troubling notion crossed my mind. Despite our fanciful engagements and our dogged insistence on decorum, did we not all long for the same simple pleasures? A loving lap to lie in, a satisfying bone to gnaw, or the joy of a tail-chasing romp through the grass?

“My loyal friends,” I spoke, my voice steady as a heartbeat, “I propose an occasion honoring the true heart of Pawsburg—an event reflecting not the glitter, but the spirit of our bonds.” A murmur of approval tightened my chest. “A festival where every dog, noble or not, celebrates the love of their humans, the thrill of the chase, and most importantly, the friendship that unites us.”

Cheers erupted, echoing off the walls of our dogdom, and the plan was set in motion.

As the meeting adjourned, the sun dipped below the rooftops, casting an orange hue upon the land. I retreated to my chambers at Canine Couture Clothing, a gift from the adoring masses, or perhaps it was just that Niki fancied me in tweed.

With the day’s agenda buried, I curled up in my royal cushion, a sovereign’s sleep drawing nigh. I reflected on my rule, brief as a butterfly’s life but as profound as the bond with my Niki. With a soft, contented sigh, I closed my eyes, the stories of Pawsburg etched in my heart and the scent of Dachshund’s Deli still lingering in my whiskers.

Tomorrow promised another gala, another chance to partake in the glorious opera of being Pawsburg’s crowned pet. But tonight, even a king needed his rest, to dream of Niki’s gentle strokes and the simple, perfect pleasure of being her Bruno.

The End.