“Woke up in Sandville, not my doghouse. Nerf gun, seawater taste. Landed in some ‘Lost’ episode with Gigi, Dave, Marlon and some cats. Made ourselves an adventure rescue team, even became friends with cats (weird). Now back home. Did learn new tricks though. Cya! – Tail-Wagger Supreme”

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I came awake in a place that is distinctly not the inside of my doghouse back home. How peculiar, I thought, shifting my weight on the sand. Yes, that’s right – sand. There was a considerable amount of it, in fact, all over and the last time I checked, I hadn’t fallen asleep on a beach.

Scratching my ears, the familiar feel of the Nerf ball gun strapped securely to my chest helped calm down the frantic barking in my mind. I felt like I had just won a tussle with a overzealous cat – head spinning, senses out of form, and with a strange taste in my mouth that did not in the least bit remind me of watermelon or chicken.

My eyes slowly adjusted to the glaring sunlight and I took stock of my surroundings. I gasped or at least attempted a dog version of said action. I was on a beach alright, spectacular view of the sea, but definitely not Brindle Brown Boxer Beach.

Deprived of my customary stroll through the park with mom, my rump wriggled in discontent. This was beginning to look less like Pawsburg and more like that movie thingy Mom watched one time. What was it? ‘Lost’?

Without any other option in sight, I decided to explore this new environment. Despite the unnerving, unusual Circumstance, my loyal trait of curiosity kicked in. A stubborn yearning for my comfortable life in Pawsburg drove my paws.

The Plot radically Thickened when, to my delight, I saw Gigi, Grandpa Dave, Marlon, and, of course, some resident cats mewl about the situation. We all seemed to have drifted away from our comfortable routines into this strange island of circumstances.

Grandpa Dave seemed to take this the most stridently, despite his age and lack of any visible enthusiasm for most things in life. Gigi, the fluffy Shih Tzu who lived near East Pug Palace, whimpered a bit, but I was glad to see her fluffy personality hadn’t dissipated entirely due to the predicament.

Formulating a plan of rescue was the need of the hour, but the lot of us hardly looked like an adept rescue team. Nevertheless, we summoned our combined courage to take on this adventure.

Marlon, the sharpest out of us all, quickly made himself the de-facto leader, which seemed alright to me considering that meant less work. My training, particularly the interaction with my Nerf Ball Gun, was finally seen as being more than just playful training by the group. I felt a bit smug, I must admit!

We barked and mewled in agreement to construct a HELP sign and watch over the island for potential saviors. Despite the dire situation, we were united, exuding the vivacious energy of Pawsburg. It was ours to either despair or to be like the cucumber (not preferred) – cool and collected. We chose the latter, the only choice for the community of Pawsburg, to be frank. A testament to how well we can stick together when faced with unpalatable pickles.

Ah, there was some running, some snarling, but at no point did we veer off course, even if the course was veering off from our original routines. Even when the prospect of ear cleaning and hateable veggies was lurked large on the horizon, there was no displeasure. It’s shared misery, you see, the most social of all miseries.

And then, the blessed sound of a human approach from sea, only second to the sparking of the grill! The savior had finally arrived.

As I wagged my tail in relief, I knew that we dogs aren’t just humans’ best friends, we could be our own best friends too. And, though I wouldn’t admit this readily, maybe we could even be best friends with cats sometimes, especially on deserted islands. It appears survival has a unique way of teaching even the most reticent of us Bulldogs surprisingly new tricks!

The End.