Hey Ma,

Just a quick update from your adventurous pup Keisha. I’ve been on a soul-polishing journey here in Pawsburgh, trying to be a better version of myself. I’ve learned it’s not just the good things we do, but the heart behind them that counts. Gave up the blue dragon stuffie I coveted for another pup in need and I’ve been paying forward treats. The streets are abuzz; they’re all saying Keisha’s turned a new leaf! Miss you and your belly rubs.

Tail wags and puppy kisses,
Keisha (a.k.a. Meisha Moo) 🐾💖

Well, now, ain’t this a tail to weave! I’m Keisha, the fawn pug of some renown ’round Pawsburgh, and if you’re leanin’ in to listen, I’ll spin ya the yarn of how I came to be a mite better in this here afterlife.

In Pawsburgh, where the streets be paved with the finest of treats and the fire hydrants never do run dry, I found myself perplexed by the queerest of notions—that I, despite my natural inclination towards benevolence, could stand to polish my soul just a wrinkle more.

It was under the rose-tinted dawn at Bloodhound Bluffs where clarity first struck me. Barrelin’ down the trail, heedless of the bracin’ wind, I happened upon an old bull terrier by the name of Brutus. He’d taken to gazin’ out over the expanse, every crease on his muzzle deep in thought. “What weighs on ya, old timer?” I ventured, my paws itchier than a possum in a sack.

He turned his wise, milky eyes upon me, and with the gravitas of someone who’s seen a thing or two, he said, “Young Keisha, true goodness ain’t just in the doin’; it’s in the why behind the doin’.”

Now, take a moment here. You’re knowin’ full well my penchant for the playful nip, the gentle tug, the spirited romp with every hound from Quartz Qimmiq Quarter to Shiba Inlet. But that mornin’, as I gazed upon Brutus, I saw that my book of life had some pages yet to be writ.

So commences my adventure, a quest if you will. Havin’ moseyed on down to Labrador Lunch to mull over a bowl of kibble (crunchy as the fall leaves underfoot), I hatched a scheme worth two in the bush. By the flicker of candlelight, and in the esteemed presence of my rascally friends, I announced, “It’s high time I became the barker I’m meant to be!”

My declaration was met with a mix of snickers and supportive woofs, but I resolved to see it through. With tail held high, I set forth to conduct myself with a purity of intent. No more filchin’ the juiciest bones from Hound’s Hotdogs without nary a thank-you, nor waltzin’ out of The Wagging Tail Bookstore with more bones than I can chew and none left for others.

The road to self-betterment was rutted and rocked, much like the cobblestones of The Woofy Bakery, where I endeavored to pay forward the occasional pastries to pups less fortunate. Legends of my largesse soon spread, whispered among the maples and oaks.

Yet, the sternest test awaited me with the array of stuffies lined up like silent sentinels in The Pooch Playhouse. Twas there where my covetous heart warred with my newfound resolve. A certain blue dragon, stuffed with squishy majesty, used to call my name with a fervor that’d put a siren to shame. But I passed it by, and winked at a young spaniel with threads of silver in his coat—I’d left the prize for a pup who’d find comfort in its embrace.

And what, you ask, became of me, Keisha, the pint-sized philosopher of Pawsburgh? Well, let’s just say that I’m sleepin’ easier by the poolside now, baskin’ in both sun and virtue. But spare me the ear cleanin’, friend; some predicaments linger even in this doggone paradise.

As the pooches of Pawsburgh do attest, with jest and joy in equal measure, Keisha’s become a good ‘un, through and through. Why, I reckon all it took was a dash of reflection and a blue dragon left on a shelf to gently nudge this old pug along the path of the righteous.

The End.