Hey Mom and Dad,

Just nailed the Furlympics, channeled my inner Husain Bark with a side of laughs – might not have caught the big W but definitely snagged the biggest Puperoni. Think of me as a Usain Bolt, but fluffier. Catch you after the victory bath!

Tail wags and kisses,
Big Boy 🐾🏅😉

Ever hear of the Pawsburgh Bulldogs? Well, that’s us. And by us, I mean me and my crew, the four-legged athletes of the yard. I’m Ulric, by the way – a triathlete of tail-wagging, ear-flopping, and heart-melting proportions.

Today’s event is the grand one, the tail-chaser, the Furlympics down at Opal Pomeranian Park. I was getting ready for my favorite event, the dash, drag and drool. The competitor’s circle is my backyard, the prize: infinite bones. But today, it’s not just about the bone, it’s about the glory of the sprint, the technique of the tug, and the drool… well, the drool just sort of comes with the territory.

My mom-and-dad think I’m off chasing butterflies, but really, I’m here at Pawsburgh, a place that looks suspiciously like the dreams you have after a beastly large portion of Shepherd’s Shawarma. At The Howling Husky Hardware Store, I just picked up a new leash, so lightweight it might well be made of whispers. “Ulric,” they’d said, “with this, you’re going to fly.”

Right before the race, I’m chewing thoughtfully on my most prized possession – a stuffed toy Watermelon. It’s not just a toy; it’s my coach and confidant. Watermelon’s got this look that says, “Who cares about strawberries and green beans anyway? Just remember to chew on victory.”

As my fellow competitors and I line up, I squint through the morning light reflecting off Cavalier Cove, feeling the day’s warmth like a cloak on my pearly white coat. We all know the drill – no humans, no holds barred, and no ear-cleaning till sunset, thank heavens.

“On your bark, get set,” the announcer hollers, a spunky Jack Russell with a megaphone that I’m pretty sure he doesn’t need.

Go!

We’re a cluttered jumble of paws and noses and wagging tails. I’m running with the courage of a lion and the gentle nudge of the wind against my jowl.

Marvin, a lanky greyhound, whispers as he pulls up beside me, “I’ve seen cheeseburgers that run faster than you, Uli.” Through the panting and the competitiveness, I let out a chuff of laughter that rumbles from my belly – a signature move that’s all charm and intimidation.

A sharp turn is coming up and I think about my place of serenity – my backyard kingdom, a usual whirlwind of peace and romping. I take the curve like I’m rounding the mighty oak back home, and then it’s the final stretch.

It’s head to head with Marvin. I remember my squirrely sprints with Watermelon strewn around my backyard. We had trained for this – in our own, sprawled out in the sun kind of way.

The finish line breaks like a wish on a dandelion, and my ears are filled with the roaring cheer of my nameless, yet kin-spirited, friends. A photo finish they say.

But let’s not dilly dally over who won and who came in a very, very close second. Because I can see the Chowhound’s Chophouse at the end of the track, and they are handing out samples of Puperoni.

Ulric, victorious or not, is about to feast.

The End.

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