Hey Mom, guess what? Spent the day helping Max uncover a treasure (read: missing slipper) from the backyard. Got loads of pats and belly rubs as my reward. Feeling like a hero but, you know, the humble kind. Hope you’re wagging as much as I am! 🐾 Love, Berk.

Ah, dear friends, gather ’round, for I shall regale you with the tale of my latest adventure in Pawsburg, that magical realm where we canines slip away to when our human companions are blissfully unaware. You see, I, Berk, the Turkish Kangal of no mean size, have recently taken up a rather unexpected venture—the competitive sport of sheepdog trials.

Although I am purportedly a livestock guardian by nature, my tastes tend to lean more towards a convivial game of fetch with a gaggle of giggling Chihuahuas than any serious herding business. It was on a moonlit evening in Pawsburg, amidst the gentle hum of Setter’s Steakhouse—where the turkey platter is second to none—that I found myself entangled in this peculiar sport.

Our tale begins with the esteemed Chubz, the Old English Bulldog of considerable girth and unrivaled charm. His stocky frame waddled into the Ruff and Tumble Toy Store, where he declared, “Berk, my dear fellow, you simply must join me for the Great Pawsburg Sheepdog Trial tomorrow—it promises to be the toast of the town!”

Would you take a moment to consider the absurdity of the scene? Me, at a sheepdog trial! Why, I’d sooner engage in a debate with Kermit, the Norwegian Forest feline, on the merits of rain than round up a flock.

Nevertheless, my curiosity was piqued. After all, if one can casually guard a television remote during a viewing of *The Wizard of Oz*, how much harder could it be to shepherd a dozen sheep?

The next morning, I found myself, coat shimmering like the sandy dunes of Diamond Doberman Dunes, amidst a bustling crowd at Newfoundland Nook. The competition grounds were cloaked in a mist that mirrored the suspense in the air.

As the trial commenced, I surveyed the scene. There stood the competitors—triumphant Border Collies, dapper Australian Shepherds—all gathered, tails wagging and eyes alight with unmatched fervor.

“Right then, Berk,” Chubz nudged me with a look that spoke volumes, “Remember, it’s all in the pawwork.”

Off I ventured, bounding towards the contrary sheep with an enthusiasm that verged on reckless. My associates would later regale listeners with tales of how I implemented a rather unorthodox strategy: instead of the typical bark and herd, I engaged the sheep in polite conversation, remarking on the splendor of sunbathing and the curious scent of Lambsy before us.

By Jove, it worked—or at the very least, it appeared to. The sheep trotted along amiably, either charmed by my thoughtful discourse or sent into a state of confusion that only those accustomed to canine eccentricities could appreciate.

To the bewilderment of the judges, and to the sheer delight of the audience, I—yes, the very Berk who detests stray cats—happened to guide the woolly beasts through the finish line, thus completing the trial in a style that was distinctly my own.

Later that evening, as we celebrated with a round of Terrier Tacos, the festivities echoed with laughter and good cheer. The folk of Pawsburg hatched stories of my gallant, albeit unconventional efforts on Instagram and BarkBook.

Should you chance upon a canine strolling casually through the park with a particular gleam in its eye, carry on, for that would be I, Berk, the guardian of the remote, the barker of anecdotes, and perhaps now, the improbable sheepdog extraordinaire. And do remember, green beans are never to be mistaken for turkey.