Hey Mom,

Had another epic adventure in Pawsburgh today! Thwarted a toy thief, brokered an epic peace deal and, as usual, became the heroic face-off champ against the dreaded vacuum beast. Will dream of chicken pies and valorous quests tonight. Give my belly a rub when you get this?

XO,
Millie the Brave 🐾✨

In the drowsy whisper of dawn, ‘fore the humans roused to their toil and clatter, I’d slip out the little flap door, the very magic portal ‘twixt worlds. I am Millie, mind you, a lady of substantial vigor, dressed in a coat of black tri merle and peering through one brown and a blue orb. In that speck of time, I’d journey yonder to Pawsburgh – a canine Elysium beyond man’s ken.

There, the spell of Quartz Qimmiq Quarter always beckoned first, with its shimmering roofs under which pupkind congregated to exchange tales of nocturnal stealth and daylight follies. Why, I even recall a rendezvous under the pearlescent glow of Briard Bridge, where a serenade of river songs mingled with the wagging tales of wayfarers like myself.

This morn, as fate would have it, I ventured toward Lhasa Lane, my soul intent on shenanigans as ripe as the finest marrowbone. Such rascality led me past Canine’s Cuisine, the very whiff of chicken roasting making my tongue loll out as though it were a red carpet to regality.

My preferred establishment was beyond, though – Pom’s Pies, where the baker, a jolly Saint Bernard with a knack for pastry and puns, engaged in culinary artistry. “Millie, you ol’ lug, I got something to make that one blue eye a’ yours sparkle brighter than the North Star,” he’d quip, sliding a tender, steaming pie my way.

Reverie ain’t conducive to caution, as I’ve oft learned, and thus came the clatter of a pursuit behind me. ‘Twas Fetch! Toys and Treats’s proprietor, a terrier with more spirit than sense, tail a-blur as he hollered, “Thief!” with the zeal of a preacher on Sunday morn.

A scoundrel pup had filched a prize, a fuss formed as a contest of spiraling barks arose. The culprit, a cheeky rascal of indistinguishable breed – sled dog, perhaps, or shepherd – gave no quarter, dashing like a shot with a rainbow of tug ropes trailing his misdemeanor. “Stand down, scruff! Millie’s here to save the day,” I bellowed.

With a bound and a tumble, I cornered him at The Wagging Tail Bookstore, amid tales of hound heroics and vendor’s vex. A wild negotiation ensued within that sacred trove of text, bargaining ropes for bones until peace once more graced our haven. Laughter shook my ample jowls.

Yet, as the bright orb in the sky climbed high, a growl rose in my throat; the hour of dreaded hum grew near. Our West Pet World staged for human pleasure, unbeknownst to them, housed fearsome beasts of brush and hose. The vacuum machines! In anticipation, my comforting, meaty pie lodged halfway to my gullet.

Though I am many things, coward ain’t amongst them. So I puffed my chest, and warded off the growling tide with bravado, claiming allegiance with all the valiant beasts who shook and fled before the roar. This mighty stand, to this day, is yet to be heralded as the Greatest Battle Under Quartz.

Those fleeting, joyous hours waned as the key turned in the world of men; and thus, I took my leave of Pawsburgh’s embrace. To the swinging flap, and thence – home. Home to my own turf, my backyard vast, where sunshine meets sloth stuffy cuddles and solitary ruminations on the nature of squeaks.

Retreating from that world, my heart stitched of loyalty, I’d return before my humans even sensed my absence, napping as innocent as a lamb in the meadow.

Now, as twilight encloses the wakeful world, I lay, contemplating chicken and pie, fetch and tireless battles, content in the knowing that my adventures were spun from a fabric too grand for the simple warriors of Earth to understand. For in the heart of Millie beats a legend, the essence of West Pet World – a testament to the stories we tell, long after man and their machines fall silent.

The End.

Share This Story: