- Dog Tales
- December 17, 2023
Pawsburgh: Where Legends Unleash and Snowflakes Tell Fables: A Fable PawWord Story
Hey fam! ❄️🐾 Just a quick update from your furriest storyteller, Fable. Turns out Pawsburgh’s legends are true—met a living snowdog named Frosty who led us on a winter’s adventure to rival any tale. We sniffed out secrets, shared broths, and even made the snowflakes dance. Home now, paws tired but hearts full. Every day’s a story here, and I’m wagging to be the lead in ours. Stay warm, stay whimsy! 🐕❤️ – Fable
The first snow in Pawsburgh always stirs something ancient in me bones. I’m Fable, if you forgot, red and white bull terrier, known around these parts for—you know—my unique panache, and that cleft on my lip. A bit of frost had settled on the window of our playroom, soft light filtering through and whispering, icy fingertips drawing me to the outside world. Soul, that old well of wisdom, must’ve sensed it because she looked at me, deep into me, and said nothing. She’s good at saying a lot by saying nothing. Through those eyes, I reckon she might’ve been a snowy owl in another life.
Mabely told tales of a snowdog, magic as the moon is distant. I dismissed it with a “bah” and a twitch of me ear. But today, with the world dressed in quiet, it didn’t feel so far-fetched. With my toy anchored firmly in my mouth – a beacon of usual routine, I thought to myself, “What’s a legend if not a secret waiting to be sniffed out?”
Barkley rolled over, a grunt escaping him, wrinkles seeming less cryptic and more lined with sleep. Rosie bounced at my side, eager as ever, mirroring me restless energy. “Let’s discover something,” I wagged to her. Dori, puffball of warmth, yipped in agreement. Renada’s tail drummed a beat on the floor, always up for the chase. And Lyric, well, she looked down on us all, smiling a mountainous, benevolent smile, “Go on then, lead the way.”
Out we tumbled into the soft white canvas of the morning. Pyrenean Peak loomed over us, wearing a heavy white cap. In the moments when the wind held its breath, snowflakes fell like feathers, each one a story untold. Whippet Way stretched before us, a winding path that tempted with secrets snug beneath a quilt of snow. And there it was, a plump snowdog, as if waiting for such rogues as ourselves to come upon it.
Arctic air tangled with the scent of adventure, all promises and no guarantees. Soul nudged us closer with eyes that spoke of endless tales. A change pricked the air, the kind you feel but can’t quite paw at. Something shifted—a shimmer, a shared pulse. I squared me shoulders, mostly to impress the gals, though Barkley would swear it was nerves.
“Mabely’s tales weren’t just fur and froth,” I wagged low, so only the snow could hear. Addiction, I tell you, those stories. Rosie nudged the snowdog with her snout, and a spark, a fleck of light, booped her right back. “Well I never,” was what her eyes said when they met mine. A glow wrapped round the snowdog, heartbeat found in winter’s depths.
It shifted, this snowdog, it stood and shook itself like any of us would after a right dozy nap. We were all eyes and wagging ends, Rosie with an “ooh” escaping her lips, mirrored by Dori’s awed “ahh.” The snowdog—Frosty, the name slipped into my thoughts—winked with crystalline eyes and beckoned with a snowy paw.
We romped behind him, each flake of snow alive with energy, twirling in the dance Soul always spoke about. Off we dashed to Saluki Sands—them sands now mounds of powder—and into the embrace of dog-made dunes. We scattered snow, chasing and tumbling, Frosty leading us on, his trail a glinting glide of friendship. He nosed us towards Collie’s Cuisine for warm broth, the aroma tickling me discerning palate, and shared a tale of yesteryears’ winters, knitting our hearts closer.
By the time we two-stepped back home, Pawsburgh was a shared secret in our merry pack, adventures tucked into every snowdrift, awaiting our eager paws. Barkley, now wide awake, whispered, “The things we’ve seen, the frosty frolics, who’d have thought?” “Well,” I replied, “it’s Pawsburgh, ain’t it? Where every legend’s got its day and every snowflake’s a fable.”
The End.
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