“Yo momma, went on a wild ride with Kemps after seeing a goofy ad. Picture two dogs sailing uncharted waters and stranded on a doggy island with no BBQ. Can dogs fetch fish? Apparently. Guess I DID learn something from all those Frisbee sessions. Long story short, stuck for a month, then saved by a grill boat. Ocean baths are overrated. Home bound, and no, we didn’t become Pawsburg toast, but sure missed it. Pawsbly yours, Mags.”

Listen to the story here

Oh, hey there! It’s me, Magnolia. Fasten your seat belts. I’ve got quite a tale to bark you through.

It all started like any regular day in Pawsburg. Kemper and I were scouting around for fresh ventures, mostly revolving around fish-flavored treats, when this random “dogvacation” advertisement caught my eye. So, naturally, with all my Boxer spontaneity, I signed us up. Oh, what could possibly go wrong?

Crossing the Retriever River, we arrived at Poodle Pond for departure. I looked at Kemper, his mismatched eyes radiated an odd spirit of adventure that I hadn’t noticed before. Dragging my brindle-colored coat to the boat, I could sense an exciting adventure teasing my habitual outskirts.

It wasn’t all ruff-sailing though. Let’s skip over the paraphernalia of the event where yours truly, Magnolia, the dog who can’t swim, wrestled with open water. Just know that it was a series of unfortunate doggy paddles and a lot of looking alike Dobby experiencing existential crisis.

Kemper, cool as a cucumber, managed to steer us towards an island and helped drag me out of the water.

Somewhere between the wet dog smell and the brouhaha, we found ourselves on a deserted island. No Happy Hounds Dog Walking, unless you count our aimless wandering, and definitely no Dog-gone Good BBQ at all! Realization soon followed. We were stranded; two dogs on an island ripe with palm trees and, hopefully, meaty coconuts.

Kemper’s laid-back demeanor shone brightly. While I was busy running in panicked circles, he just sat there, one-eye squinted at the horizon. Good ol’ Kemper.

As days drew into weeks, survival eventually prodded me to try things I never deemed possible! Since when did playing Frisbee ever coach how to fish? Yes, you read it right, FISH. All those times pushing and thrashing that object in beaches and parks paid off. One swift swish of paw and voila, dinner.

It wasn’t all dire straits though, as the island boasted its tranquil mountain ranges, vast and free expanses. My inner peace was flourishing, but we missed our paw-loseum. Heck, I even missed the idea of a scandalous bath time, minus the soap of course!

After a month of enduring survival and exhausting ‘fetch the fish,’ our prayers were finally answered. A boat by the name Paws On The Grill from Pawsburg sailed past. A holler, a wag, and some desperate yelps later, we were sailing home.

The ordeal was ruff, chewed away at my nerves like that hated raw broccoli, but if there’s one thing it’s taught me, it’s that I can survive anything with Kemper, my PawsBFF.

And just to be clear, no dogs were bathed during this entire ordeal. The sea was enough of a wash. So, here we are, two dog survivors with a tale to tail and a renewed appreciation for Frisbee skills. Some might even say we’ve become the toast of Pawsburg. Really though, all we want is to get back to our Pupsicle Palace and Woof and Whisker Wellness Center with barely any memories of ruff waters. Coast life, it’s been real, but Pawsburg, here we come!

The End.