Hey fam! 🐾 Just drummed up a storm at the Barking BBQ with my tail and a sun-ball, transforming Pawsburgh into a howling jam sesh with Marley. Nearly got sidetracked by pickled herring (who wouldn’t?), but stayed true to the beat. Just another day proving even us pups can make magic with the simplest things. Heading home after a tail-waggingly grand day. PS: Invest in salmon stocks – I’m making them a thing. 😜 🐶 – Nooks 🐾

Listen to the story here

First off, let me tell you, a day in my life is never just a day—it’s an escapade, a venture into the delightful unknown that is Pawsburgh. Yesterday was no different. It was one of those days when the sun sang through the wispy clouds and beckoned us huskies to something grand. But what’s a day without a bit of a woof? I’m Nanook, by the by, the husky who never tires of the chase—the pursuit of joy, that is.

I woke up to the clatter of my beloved humans bustling about, the scent of morning brewing in the air—it smelled suspiciously void of salmon, mind you. I bided my time, feigning sleep, and as the lock clicked shut behind them, the transformation began. There was no need for capes or masks; Pawsburgh was a call away. With a stretch and a yawn, I plunged into that secret passage behind the old oak. Such is the commute to our wonderland—swift and snugly canine-sized.

Lhasa Lane was already bristling with tales of overnight dreams as I sauntered through. Harrier Harbor was alive with the sound of splashing and bark-laughter—maybe from a game of water-fetch. I could’ve joined them, but no, the day was young, and my mission had a more… rhythmic beat to it.

I arrived at the Quartz Qimmiq Quarter, the heart of Pawsburgh, where the festive spirit was thick enough to chew. I padded my way to the Puppy Patisserie, ordering a tray of salmon delights with the zeal of a pup on Barkmas eve. Sated and ready, I set paw to Barking BBQ where the holiday beats were about to ignite. There I was; with my squeaky sun-ball-turned-drum, I found my muse nestled between the wafts of barbecued goodness.

Now, dear friend, playing drum with a tail’s thud and a ball’s squeak may not sound like the makings of legend, but as the opening “oomph” rippled through Pawsburgh, snouts raised in unison. Poodle’s Pasta’s patrons, mid-twirl of spaghetti, paused to waggle their ears to my rhythm. The Schnauzers at Spa for Paws poked their heads, fresh from fur-fluffs and pawdicures, eager to bounce to the beat. Even the snap-happy clicks from Best in Show Photography synced to my simple symphony.

An artful crescent to our play was when Marley—a Golden with vocals crisp as winter dawn—joined in, lending his howl to my cadence. Together, we were something… fetchingly harmonious.

But no tale is without a snag. Enter a jar of pickled herring from Happy Hounds Dog Walking. One whiff of the stuff and I was nearly derailed, my tail faltering in beat. A politer pup might’ve just moved along, but Nanook? Nanook makes a show of it. With a sidelong leer at the jar, I let out a decisive “Paw-lease,” tossing my snout back to the festivities.

There it was—a moment in time, us dogs understood the power of simple gifts. The music, the company, the shared grins—it wasn’t about frills or tinsel. It was us, it was now, and it was grand.

As the day wound down, we tousled our manes and pressed our noses in appreciation—today was a grand adventure indeed. I gathered my ball-turned-drum, thoughts of my human companions flickering like soft hearth light. They’d hear of this, oh yes. They always do. Tail wagging, tongue lolling, I set off home, already the words of my tale spinning into gold in my head because, in Pawsburgh, even the modest drumming pup can whip up a wagging good yarn.

The End.