“Hey Dad🐾, Had a full-on day at Pawsburg, our secret pup-city! Crushed some territorial disputes at Chow Hound Cafe, celebrated with ‘dog-friendly’ brew by Poodle Pond. Savored town’s best ice cream🍦in a convertible ride {ears flapping, totally epic!} Rounded with a call to Christine. Now, off to bed! Your doggo diplomat, Nelson 🌙🐶”

Listen to the story here

Every city has its secrets. For us four-legged souls, the secret was Pawsburg. It was our safe haven, our playground, our domain, existing only in the whispers of the wind, in the well-guarded corners of our canine hearts. Most humans were oblivious, and we kept it that way.

“Nelson!” Zach, my sturdy Golden Retriever pal, barked, his tail whipping the air as he bound towards me. The bright lights of Shih Tzu Stadium glowed behind him, casting dramatic, flickering shadows.

“Zach! How’s the old sniffer?” I replied, my football-shaped body swaying lightly as I trotted towards him, my mismatched eyes sparkling with delight under my wrinkled brow. Regular visits to Woof and Whisker Wellness Center by Christine, my trusted vet and partner in canine escapades, had kept me fit as a fiddle.

In Pawsburg, we had roles, responsibilities, and I, Nelson, was a figure of importance – one part diplomat, one part peacemaker. I fostered unity among Pawsburg pups, a necessary skill for the functioning of our canine commune.

Debate over a hot issue broke around the Chow Hound Cafe. A group of Terriers was moaning about the lack of game time at the stadium. I listened. Listening was my forte. I kept the wag in check, maintaining my calm demeanor, only interjecting when necessary, “Look fellas, there’s enough room for all of us, but we gotta share. We’ll take it to the board, get rotations in place.”

After pacifying the Territorial Terriers, the rest of the evening went by peacefully. Celebratory drinks by Poodle Pond – ‘dog-friendly’ craft beer and a treat for my culinary buds, a hearty cannoli from Pup-Tizers. There was always a sense of wistful joy in these gatherings, bittersweet impermanence that deepened our camaraderie.

Work done, I took a solitary stroll toward the Siberian Summit, gazing at the twinkling skyline of our hidden world. Pawsburg was my place, my responsibility. It felt good. But even a leader needed to kick back.

One of my guilty pleasures was a ride around town in an old convertible. Top down, ears flapping, wind in my fur. It was here that I devoured my little secret indulgence – the town’s best ice cream. Nuzzling the vanilla and bacon treat, I savored each lick, the chilly, creamy goodness melting in my mouth, a sweet conclusion to a fulfilling day.

Back home, a note waited for me, penned by shiny black paws – Christine’s. It was time for my last call of the night – a call to the human world, to the lady who had saved, loved, and nurtured me, been my healer and confidante. “Tonight’s work,” I begun, voice soft, “is done, Christine. Pawsburg remains united under the stars… for now.”

Pawsburg closed for the night in the ever-changing cycle. Only to wait for the next day, when sleep crept into the human world, and we dogs would sneak away, off to our secret city, to live large, frolic and laugh under a moonlit sky, knowing well that the Bulldog with mismatched eyes watches over them. For I am Nelson, the diplomat of Pawsburg, and this was my world to guard.

The End.