“Hey pal, swiped some chicken off Jenkins’ plate, avoided peas like the pro I am! Then dashed to Pawsburg, indulged in chicken at ‘Bark n Roll’, took a dip with Brutus at Labradoodle Lake. The Snooty Snout had me sniffing heaven and snuck in a quick pic at the Furry Friends Art Gallery. Woofin’ good Tuesday! Can’t wait to do it again next week! – DT 🐾”

Listen to the story here

Picture this, my squeaky toy comrades and the ever-decaying rubber duck that has the place of honor on my chew-bitten bed. It is a typical Tuesday. Mr. Jenkins, that dear sweet fool, being the forgetful chap he is, affably leaving a filling chicken dinner plate unattended on the forbidden furniture aka the dining table. Succulent, aromatic pieces languishing away, just out of my reach… and in the soup, those abhorrent green orbs – peas!

No, I’m not contemplating on dealing with the peas. I am, however, celebrating the absence of hollering humans. It’s prime time to hop on the next wagon to that greatly exalted urban dog haven – Pawsburg. You see, the moment my human is lured into the arms of the sandman, I am off on my enthralling soirees.

Contrary to popular canine misconceptions, Pawsburg is not exactly around the corner, it’s a bit of a trot down to East Bulldog Bay. But, the journey itself is a joy! My fur fluttering in the gentle breeze as I sprint through street, park, and alley. It’s like the town becomes my stage, my panting breaths the only soundtrack I need.

Suburban life’s peaceful, but oh dog, Pawsburg? It’s a riot! First stop is ‘Bark n Roll,’ where I engage in culinary flirtations with anything chicken. Avoiding peas is an art I’ve mastered over the years. Daisy, dear fragile missy, usually sits on the neighboring table, watching my food maneuvers with her head tilted.

Next, we hit Western Labradoodle Lake. Brutus and I, the old bulldog, with his ice-cold wisdom that oddly compliments my exuberance, paddle our limbs in waters that have heard tales of canine bravery and misadventures. Our audience? Beating hearts with wagging tails.

Later, as night dons its velvet mantle, we find ourselves at The Snooty Snout Boutique. Ah, the tail-wagging ambrosia that place is, the scents that play tag on your snout. And what’s a dog’s night out without some commemoration? The Furry Friends Art Gallery is our photo studio, our aging selves captured in sepia-toned frames.

A typical Tuesday, they’d say, but rarely is there such a thing in my life. Chicken dinner, peas to dodge, and then Pawsburg, a non-stop carnival for our kind. Pawsburg’s a tale of freedom, of reclaiming our wild spirits, even if for a fleeting moment. And, in my story, every dog has its day, and this Tuesday…it was indeed mine.

The End.