‘Dad, in a dreamscape called Pawsburg, I went on an adventure that Hollywood wishes it could conjure. Stacked up at the Doggy Depot, wrestled leaves in Greyhound Grove, crashed a corgi’s birthday cake, binged on BBQ ribs only to end up nursing water bowls at Canine Café. Signed, your night-time explorer, Willie “Squeaky Donut” Wonka.’

Listen to the story here.

The title of tonight’s story? “The Day Willie Wonka Ventured Off To Pawsburg” A tale of a daring morning, a captivating afternoon, and an evening that would put any prime-time sitcom to shame. Neil Simon, eat your heart out.

In the wee hours, when Jack was off, barely navigating the oversized world of dreams, I decided to treat myself to some escapism, Pawsburg-style. You see, Pawsburg is like Night at the Museum, only it’s Night at the Dog House. The real ruckus begins when folks drift away into dreamland.

After sneaking out and making a beeline to The Doggy Depot, I stopped short of filling my shopping basket – or as we dogs call it, ‘my mouth’, with a cornucopia of squeaky donuts. On the way out, I exchanged tail wags with Candy and Brutus, my trusty sidekicks who had a knack for adventure rivaling Indiana Jones.

Our first stop? Greyhound Grove, and boy, I needed to open a souvenir shop with all the sticks and leaves caught on my wrinkly folds. With the agility of a middle-aged English bulldog (that’s me) and his friends, we bounded through the woods like it was the opening scene of a sitcom – cue the laughter track.

We took a detour past Corgi Castle and dived straight into the mishap of the day. Brutus, in his infinite mischief, had leaped right into an unsuspecting corgi’s birthday cake. Frosting flew everywhere, covering everyone in the vicinity! The ordeal had the castle inhabitants baffled, while us? We were barking up the laughter tree.

Doubled over with giggles, we scurried off to our next adventure – the renowned Dog-gone Good BBQ. My reputation as an ardent meat-lover preceded me. My slobber-laden jowls weren’t as rosy a sight for the waitress, but we’ll leave that tableau to your imagination.

After scarfing down an insurmountable stack of ribs, our legion of joyous hounds trotted off into the sunset towards Westie Woods. I swear I even saw Brutus, now full with a pirate’s booty worth of beef, attempting to compete with the sun’s brilliant glow.

But adventure had its toll, and we found ourselves stationed at the Canine Café, nursing bowls of water. You see, the irony of it all is that in Pawsburg, after a night of carnivalesque antics, our warrior hearts settle for the humblest of conclusions in the cool confines of our favorite watering hole.

While Jack snored away, my day drew to a close, my gut comfortably filled with the day’s spoils, my mind brimming with wild antics. I was ready to slip back into my quotidian life as an English bulldog, Willie Wonka, the night-time adventurer. But that’s a tale for another day, and dare I say, another bowl of juicy ribs?

The End.