Hey Ma,

Just your boy Gotti checking in. Imagine: While these Pawsburgh pets are living the high life, I’m out here playing it cool but wrestling with the bigger bones of life—like dealing with snooty cats and feeling a bit adrift without my favorite human by my side. But don’t worry, I’ve got Baxter and my street smarts. No matter the scrapes, you raised me to face the music with my tail wagging.

Keep the porch light on, I’ll be home soon.

Love,
Gotti

The sun dipped below Malamute Mountain, setting the Pawsburgh sky ablaze. You could see the smoldering fringes through the gaps in the fence—the one I used to climb before the Great Escape. Now, I sit among manicured shrubs at The Pampered Pooch, sporting a blue bandana, looking every bit the part of a loyal companion. But nobody here knows the real score. The game’s different when you’re a Pitbull with a heart that sings the blues.

“Gotti, you alright there, pal?” The voice broke through my reverie. It was Baxter, a spry Beagle mix with a nose for trouble.

“Just thinking, Bax,” I replied, staring at rows of doggie treats I wouldn’t bother to pick through even if they whispered my favorite flavors.

Baxter cocked his head. Folks here at Pawsburgh—they don’t get it. They see a dog like me and think they’ve seen it all: the zest for play, the white stripe like a highway running down my face, leading straight to my soul. They don’t see the battles, the long nights wrestling with a stuffed toy that knows more about me than any of these clueless mutts.

The Pampered Pooch was starting to stifle. I needed air, something real. “Bax, let’s duck out. I need to stretch these legs.”

We slipped into the dusky streets, past Doggie Diner where the tantalizing smells of roasted meats collided with the city’s heartbeat. But those rhythms held no music for me tonight. My paws carried me towards an unexpected silence, a place where I could think.

We ended up near Basenji Bay. I could barely stomach the thought, my aversion to water scratching at the back of my skull. I cast my gaze to the stars, seeking wisdom in their unblinking light. Baxter let out a soft whimper beside me, a silent offering of support.

“It’s the felines, Baxter,” my voice was barely above a growl. “That’s where the challenge lies. It’s in their indifferent eyes, in the way they slither past without so much as a nod.”

Baxter nodded, his beady eyes suddenly solemn.

“And the emptiness, Bax. You ever feel it?” I confessed. “The big, gaping hole that opens up whenever there’s a human-shaped shadow missing from your side.”

“Do you think it’s… fear, Gotti?” Baxter pondered aloud.

“No, it’s not fear,” I said firmly. “It’s knowing that there’s a part of the world that just isn’t for me. It’s drama. It’s the high tension on a line that stretches too tight, ready to snap. And when it does,” I paused, a shiver dancing through my fur, “it’s the understanding that you’ve got to face whatever comes next all on your own.”

Baxter and I sat there under the cosmic gallery, two friends united against the stark drama of existence. His company, like a tether, kept me moored to sanity.

A high-pitched yap echoed from beyond the bay—a call to adventure or maybe just a late-night scuffle at Shar-Pei Shores. But I was done running for the night. My mind needed the peace, even if each beat of my heart was a drum calling me back into play, back into the fray.

“Let’s head back, Bax. The stars are speaking in riddles tonight, and I’m not in the mood for puzzles.”

The Beagle obliged, and together we walked back into the heart of Pawsburgh, the rhythm of our paws syncing with the quiet hum of the night. Tomorrow was another day, and no matter the drama, no matter the internal turmoil and existential squabbles, I’d wake up and do it all over again, because that’s the way of the world—that’s the way of Gotti, the loyal companion.

The End.