Hey! Just wanted to let you know I helped the humans find their way back home again today, sniffed out some hidden treats, and made sure everyone got their daily dose of joy and tail wags. Life’s pretty good! 🐾 -Finick

### Finick and the Dograssic Bark Adventure

The moon hung high over Pawsburg like a glowing tennis ball, the silent sentinel of our canine kingdom. As the human world toiled away in their dreams, we fluffy citizens plunged into our secret world of frolics and escapades. Yes, it was I, Finick the Chinese Crested, otherwise known as the dog with more fur on his heart than his body, who limped (in good spirits, might I add) across the busy streets of Terrier Town, navigating my way to the buzzworthy destination: Dograssic Bark.

You see, Dograssic Bark was no ordinary park. Nope, it was a wonderland where ancient and extinct dog breeds, long lost to history, had been brought back to life through the marvels of canine genetic wizardry. Quite the grandiose ambition, and yet, here we were, queuing up to see Direwolves and Molossuser cells in flesh and fur.

As I approached the towering spire of Spitz Spire, the ancient stone structure showcasing the many regal lines of Spitz breeds, I rendezvoused with my barmy old pal Rufus, a robust Rottweiler with a taste for ribs and a penchant for unnecessary head-butting.

“Finick, my boy!” he barked with hearty enthusiasm, “Ready for our Jurassic adventure?”

“Indeed, Rufus,” I yapped, trying to sound as grandiose as the occasion demanded, “But if I may, should we first indulge in a nibble at Rottweiler’s Ribs? One mustn’t face resurrected mastiffs on an empty stomach, after all.”

Rufus flashed a toothy grin that only a Rottweiler with a collection of charmingly-stubborn puppy teeth could master, “Lead the way, old chap. My stomach feels as neglected as a chew toy in a cat’s home.”

Upon fortifying ourselves with a feast that could make a Bulldog blush, we trotted over to the gates of Dograssic Bark. The sign was a marvelous sight—”DOGRASSIC BARK” emblazoned in glowing letters, accompanied by playful, technical growls of holographic pups of ancient past.

The grand tour began fairly smoothly. We saw the towering Molossus, the Irish Wolfhound’s dread-inspiring ancestor, destined to loom over history books and under our very eyes. Hussling past the sight, we approached the “Woolly Pug Exhibition,” only to find it adorably inert, no different from the couch potato pugs of today.

But, dear reader, it was at the section housing the resilient Direwolves that things took a hair-raising turn. Alarm bells clanged sharply, sending echoes through the park, each chime a harbinger of mayhem. Suddenly, a Direwolf as large as a Great Dane and twice as tenacious leapt over its enclosure, its eyes gleaming with untamed ferocity.

“By the whiskers of Whiskerton!” I exclaimed, my words blending panic with bewilderment.

“To Spitz Spire, Finick!” bellowed Rufus, bolting away but escaping not without a few destabilizing head-butts to nearby benches, artifacts, and quite possibly, his own sense of direction.

Tail between my legs (strictly for aerodynamic purposes), I scampered after Rufus. We reached Spitz Spire in breathless vagabondage, barricading ourselves against the ancient rock, hoping the spirits of Spitz would spare our modern hides.

Miraculously, Pawsburg’s guardian, Mayor Barksdale—a Bernese Mountain Dog with the sensibilities of a top-hatted statesdog and the bark of an ancient archangel—swung into action. Ordered distraction devices, intriguingly tennis balls filled with the finest gourmet beef aroma, lured the Direwolf back to its pen as a transfixed crowd watched.

Exhausted but victorious, Rufus and I eventually staggered our way back to Terrier Town.

“Well, that was a bit of a scuffle,” I muttered, shaking off the adventure’s dust.

Rufus, ever the resilient one, let out a hearty laugh. “What’s life without a bit of drama, eh, Finick? Now, shall we fetch a treat from Retriever’s Restaurant? I have a craving for their salmon bisque.”

“With such a plan, we could face thousands of Direwolves,” I yipped, more for the excuse of companionship than the imagined terror.

Thus concluded another episodic escapade in Pawsburg—a night lovingly shared with friends and fraught with yelps, yet brandishing the indomitable spirit of us dogs, alive and unrestrained in our Dograssic Park.