Hey Jessie,

Turns out I was Pawsburg’s most eligible ‘Pet Bachelor’ today—think four paws and a whole lot of wagging hearts! 😂🐾💔 But don’t worry, it was all tail-wags in jest. Still a one-hooman doggo at heart. Cuddle up for storytime tonight?

Wags and woofs,
Ollie 🐶✨

And so it goes, on a rather unremarkable Thursday—or so it seemed to the untrained eye—that I, Ollie, sovereign of squeaky bones and scion of Pawsburg, found my typical tail-wagging routine upended. For on that amber-touched morning, as the first light carved shadows into shapes and whispers of my destiny wafted through my dreams, I felt the tug of the extraordinary; a canine convergence was calling at the heart of Pawsburg’s own Amber Akita Alley.

A wink of a ladybug’s nap later, I discarded the bonds of my usual life and slipped quietly into the street. I’m not going to lie to you or to myself, the anticipation licked at my heels like a persistent pup, for the word had whisked down Bichon Boulevard that a game of hearts was afoot—a perfumed, confounding escapade of romantic shenanigans dubbed ‘The Pet Bachelor.’

Ah, my lovely Jessie would surely chuckle, tossing her head back and sighing about reality TV when she next saw me. But let her—the streets were empty, and the stage was set for one grand tale of pawing affection.

I trotted, haunches proud with purpose, to The Snooty Snout Boutique, where trinkets and treasures abound. What Vonnegut might say about this spectacle, I pondered, “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.” So I, too, decided to play my part with caution, not to be wooed by faint praise or the jingle of hollow promises.

Maisie was there, her tail thrumming against the air with nervous anticipation, and Duke, with an enigmatic smile smudged across his old, wise muzzle. I greeted them with nudges and knowing glances—they were not my competition on this stage; we were comrades in the absurd theater of courtship.

I paraded down the thoroughfare, a regal rhapsody of wags, making my proud approach to Retriever’s Restaurant where the affair unfolded. Here, beef kibble and canine quips were the currency of courtship, where whispered woolgathering was more potent than any fancy collar or fetching stick.

To this lively venue, daintily trotted an assortment of Pawsburg’s eligible bachelorettes: terriers with tantalizing eyes, fetching shepherds with luxurious fur, all tails aflutter with fervor. Each vying, each pining for a place beside me, a seat at my proverbial table—but my heart, ah, it remained steadfast, unwavering.

Dialogues danced, flirtations flourished. “What shall we concoct?” crooned a coquettish Collie. “Kibble—or perhaps, a forbidden Brussels sprout?” A jest, a test! “Ah,” I retorted, with a bow of my snowy head, “Kibble, of course, for Brussels sprouts are to Ollie what ice-nine is to a Vonnegutian apocalypse.”

Truth be told, the affair was farcical, candy-coated chaos with a chewy center of sincerity. I was no more a bachelor than I was a cat—it was all innocent fun, a respite from the mundane. True, my fair Pawsburg was a place of magic, but love, ah—that was a human contrivance.

“This life is nothing short of an electrifying, canine cabaret—which you could mistake for a pointless game,” Duke whispered in the tongue of our departed human bard, sagacity shining in his gaze.

As dusk descended, our revelry waned. We disbanded with playful promises, a menagerie of murmurings left hanging like ornaments as I scampered to the Onyx Otterhound Oasis, to relax under the sprawl of stars that, unbeknownst to humans, shimmered for us alone.

Today, I was The Pet Bachelor of Pawsburg, a sought-after heartthrob in a make-believe world. Tomorrow? Well, tomorrow called for another role, another flight of fancy. But tonight, I’d carry my adventures home to Jessie, my secret safe within the silent wag of my tail—just another tale to tell.

The End.