Just wrapped another twilight escapade at the Woof and Whisker Wellness Center – picture this: me steering the ship through the high-seas of tail-thumping drama, a friend in need, and Dr. Whittle’s swift save. Pawsburgh’s stories are safe with your narrator and night’s watchful guardian. Nap time now, but more tales await at dusk. Keep your whiskers twitching!

🐾 Oscar, the Curator of Cuddles

I bound into Pawsburgh as the clock strikes the hour when humans succumb to dreams. The moon rides high, a luminous guardian to our secret world. I’m Oscar, the shaggy, white and light brown Shitzu, curator of cuddles, and unofficial mayor of merry mutts. Tonight, within the hallowed bow-wows of Woof and Whisker Wellness Center, I’m set for an adventure that would put any tail to a twirl.

Limelight-lover, that’s me – not in the sense of the showy poodles at Kelpie Keys, though. The spotlight I crave is the chaotic glow of the emergency sign flickering over the wellness center. I wag past the pinschers at Puppy Plate, scraps of their prime steak hanging from jowls, and I make a beeline for the night’s drama.

Inside, the air buzzes with urgency – tense, volatile. I navigate familiar faces: Maximillian gives a poodle’s paw-wave, while Humphrey lifts a brow steeped in wisdom.

At once, my hind paws pace to a halt. A cocker spaniel, splayed on the gurney, eyes glazed with fear—a case fresh off Barking BBQ, maybe a bone lodged wrong. Needless to say, midnight mischief turns to serious solidarity. Fun’s fun until someone lands in a pickle, particularly when the pickle is of the life and limb variety.

“My boy,” Humphrey muses beside me, “reminds me of ‘Nam. Bones and ‘Nam.”

I give him an askance glance. “Nam? Humphrey, you’ve never even left Pawsburgh.”

“Figure of speech, kid. Figuratively,” he responds with a grumbled wag. “Now hush, the show’s about to begin.”

The doors recess into their pockets, and the queen of the ER, Dr. Whittle, a Whippet of refined pedigree – all sleek lines and focused eyes – prances forth. She takes command like a conductor before an orchestra, the bark of authority finding its way to every corner of the room.

“Schnauzer suture,” she demands, instruments clinking.

With nothing more than balanced poise, Dr. Whittle hovers over the spaniel. “Now, what have we here?”

I watch the magnificence unfold before me, a blend of educated guesses interlaced with her vows. “Sit,” she commands, and the spaniel obeys despite his wearily thumping tail. I snuggle into Maximillian, my own heart thrumming in my chest with each step of the procedure. Drama in Pawsburgh is unmatched, I tell you, unmatched.

“I always say,” I utter to Maximillian, “a chophouse delight can turn to disaster with one poor chew.”

He nods, paws tented in silent prayer.

I watch with mischievous button eyes as Dr. Whittle demonstrates her artful proficiency. The clink of metal, a delicate tug, and voilà, the source of the spaniel’s distress – a bone fragment, much to Humphrey’s detached ‘I told you so’ glance.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t relish this. Not the distress of course, but the pulsating drama where every bark, every growl counts.

While the spaniel recovers, Dr. Whittle’s eyes lock with mine across the room. A knowing smile breaks on her muzzle, and I nod. It’s a dance she and I are familiar with: the ebb and flow of saving paws and wagging tails.

As dawn threatens Pawsburgh’s incognito, I exit with my entourage of friends, Maximillian and Humphrey. The spaniel, now safe and sound, joins us. The estuary lies silent, the plaza deserted. Pawsburgh settles, but for how long?

Another night, another tail, another kibble earned in the unbreakable bond of canine companionship. And as the sun steals over the horizon, I trot homeward, my coat whisper-soft against the dew-kissed grass. My family awaits, none the wiser to the heroics their fluffy snow cloud of a pup engaged in under the cloak of night.

Adventure never sleeps in Pawsburgh. It only waits, tail wagging, for the next whisper of a fallen treat bag or the unwanted zip of a citrus peel. The secrets of a Shitzu’s life are many, and this town – this town is mine to narrate.

The End.