Hey there,

Just wrapped my tail around another day as Pawsburgh’s pinch-hit therapy pup. From Baxter’s pill woes to Fifi’s tummy troubles, my paws were full with serenity-spreading. Even solved a Dalmatian’s dining dilemma – because why choose when you can have it all? Back home to Sam’s piano serenades and the comfort of yarn-balled socks.

Love from your neighborhood fur therapist,
Ava-Grace 🐾✨

Ah, dear acquaintance, allow me to regale you with a recent escapade that quite stirred the refined calm of my existence. My name, as you know, is Ava-Grace; not just a Yorkie but a Yorkie with a taste for the high life of Pawsburgh.

It all commenced on a day so sunny, it would have made the lemons back on Earth turn ripe with envy – and we all know how I loathe the citrus scoundrels. By the break of dawn, I had already bid adieu to my beloved Sam, who was off to share his passion for Chopin with the neighborhood brats.

Left to my own devices, I caught a glimpse of Pawsburgh unfurling its welcome mat through my apartment window. Mischief shimmered in my almond-shaped eyes like sunlight off my silken fur. Alas, the day was ripe for adventure.

Not long after setting paw onto the bustling streets, the extraordinary happened: I was recruited by the Woof and Whisker Wellness Center to stand in for their renowned resident therapy dog, Dr. Barkley Muttson, a brilliant fellow whose fame reached every hydrant in town. An unexpected twist! But such is life for one of such natural refinement and keen intellect.

So, there I was, wading through the melodrama like a swan upon a pond full of koi, a dainty frame amongst the burly and the brave, the guide amongst the lost. With each wag of my tail, I brought comfort to the convalescing, the ill-at-ease; serenity was my offering.

During my rounds on that particularly eventful day, Baxter, that wise old Beagle, regaled me with tales of his doses of unpalatable medicine. One might think with age comes tolerance, but Baxter’s nose turned at the sight of a pill much like mine at the waft of a lemon zest.

Then there was Fifi, the sprightly Pomeranian who happened upon Setter Shore after a disastrous run-in with some leftover Pup’s Parfait. Let’s just say, her usual frolicsome self was considerably dampened by the gastrointestinal revolt – can you imagine?

I was perched on my regal rear, pondering the complexities of being a four-legged Florence Nightingale, when I stumbled upon a case most curious: a Dalmatian in distress, fraught with the paralyzing choice between the tantalizing aromas of Hound’s Hotdogs and the sophisticated delights from Dachshund’s Deli. A true culinary conundrum!

In a moment of inspiration – or was it the plush squeaky squirrel I’d swiped from Sam’s tote whispering advice? – I suggested a combination unheard of in Pawsburgh’s gastronomical circles. “Why not both?” The audacity sparkled in my gaze.

The Dalmatian’s spots nearly aligned with the revelation, and off he trotted, likely to propose a fusion trend that would sweep the town off its paws.

Alas, as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in a warm embrace, I strolled through Maple Leaf Park, my duty done, my heart content. A whisper of grilled chicken wafted through the air – Oh, Sam was calling, in his own delicious way.

I returned to my snug apartment, to the piano’s melodious echoes, undoubtedly questioning where I’d spent my hours. In these moments, I found truth – regardless of my escapades, it was the familiar that anchored me: the softness of my plush toys, the melancholy of minor chords, and the silent exchange of a single, misappropriated sock.

As I nestled close to Sam, draping myself across his lap in an ornate arrangement of ebony and tan, I cherished the simple fact: In Pawsburgh, no matter the drama, love and loyalty stood as the ultimate medicine. Yes, even for a Yorkie with a penchant for therapy and theatrics.

The End.

Share This Story: