Hey Mom,

You won’t believe it. I turned into a dapper dog-adventurer when the moon was full—think Sherlock Bones in Pawsburgh! My comrade Franklin & I chased legends, not balls, indulging in pig ear delicacies & uncovering a globe for epic quests. Alas, at sunrise, I was back to being your loyal Trevor, dreaming of my next moonlit escapade. 🌕🐾💤

Trev, your furry night-errant

One would hardly credit it, but there comes a time when the full moon peeks curiously through the gossamer drapes of Pawsburgh and every denizen, or rather every dog, experiences a peculiar awakening. One such as myself, Trevor.

It was on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday when this tale unfolded. My humans, doting yet oblivious to the magic afoot, had nestled into their beds, leaving me to pad softly through the portal tucked between the willow’s whisper and the lullabies of crickets. And so there I was, an esteemed German Shepherd, clad invisibly in the armor of my adventurer’s spirit, striding purposefully into the moon washed streets of Pawsburgh.

The luminescence of Shar-Pei Shores shimmered in the distance, but I had no intention of wetting my paws that eve. My destination: Affenpinscher Avenue. For there awaited Franklin, my comrade in many a noble quest, and together we planned to sup at Labrador Lunch. “Trevor,” you might hear them say, “a creature of simple tastes yet grand adventure.”

Passing through Pinscher Plaza, I realized the air was imbued with a gossamer thread of enchantment. In Pawsburgh, a dog’s fancy could stitch the most extraordinary wonders into the weft of reality. I found my steps lighter, my bark melodious. The Tail Wagger’s Tailor had left out a sign, “Vests for the Esteemed Explorer,” a nod to the roving hearts that visited under the blanket of night.

I met Franklin outside Pooch’s Pub, his bright eyes dancing with secrets and anticipation. “No brew for us tonight,” I said. “Let’s not allow the moon’s mischief to muddle our minds.” He laughed, a bark that clanged like a bell of revelry.

We ambled along, philosophers musing over scents and sounds. A hoot of an owl was our siren call, the rustle of leaves our applause.

As we turned the corner, a fine fragrance tousled my senses. Pig ears—the coveted ambrosia! My tail waged a vigorous symphony, for even the most courageous heart cannot deny the siren call of one’s favorite indulgence—well, unless it’s salad, at which point, not even magic could convince me to consider.

Much to my delight, Sniffer’s Sandwiches materialized before us, quite acquainted with my predilections. A kindly Bulldog, with an apron that seemed spun from the very night itself, presented our treats. A debt of thanks I owed that noble purveyor!

Nibbling on the edges, I considered our next escapade. The Doggie Daycare beckoned, a place where one could relive the frolicsome puppy days or engage in the camaraderie of tug-of-war with ghosts of toys past. Yet I was not inclined for battle or remembrance; I sought fresh exploits.

As the spell of Pawsburgh wove its way into our spirits, Franklin proposed a soirée to the Barking Boutique, rumored to harbor trinkets of pluck and whimsy. There, between the collars and the kerchiefs, we discovered a globe that sparkled as if holding the very cosmos within its sphere. “For journeys beyond,” the Shoppe dog intoned with a wink.

“One treasure per night,” I declared, and together, Franklin and I charted flights of fantasy across the oceans and seas spread before our paws.

But as the moon slipped away, shy before the flirtation of dawn, the magics of Pawsburgh bid us an ephemeral farewell. And just like that, I was no longer a knight errant on the cobbled lanes but a faithful shepherd, nestled at the foot of my human’s bed, with tales of valor and revelry tangled in my dreams.

Yet, through the ordinariness of days, Trevor’s heart serves as a trove of Pawsburgh’s magical lore—it shimmers unseen, ready to unfurl once the moon dares to glance again towards that quaint hamlet where dogs hold court. And so rests my tale, one paw in the real, the other dipped in the fantastical, terpsichore on the hem of the universe and right back to my beloved nook upon the hearth.

The End.

Share This Story: