“Hey Mom, weird day. Woke up to off vibes in Pawsburg. Steak at Pancakes? No takers! Stumbled upon a political thriller–Mayor Bully’s been causing earfuls and may have a coup on his paws! Toby’s in a tizzy but we’re on it. Chasing the tail of this cat-astrophe ASAP! Send carrots and wish us luck. Love, Gommy 🐾”

Listen to the story here

Waking up to the delectable aroma of a hearty meal – not carrots, thank heavens – wafting from Bone Appetit, I found myself in a rather unusual predicament. Pawsburg, my beloved side of the fence, was subtly different. Something was amiss, subtly shifting beneath the surface. And you know what alcoholics say about being sober and holding on tight when the room starts spinning. Except, I’m a bulldog and my sobriety is pretty much non-negotiable.

Mammy’d gone off on another of those inscrutable human voyages, despicable vacuums and clear-eared notions of hygiene. Blessing in disguise really. Any self-respecting ‘dog about town’ would tell you of the liberation that nighttime brings here in Pawsburg. The North Chihuahua Castle lights fluttered invitingly in the distance, a welcoming beacon in our canine run paradise but the usual cheer was replaced with an alarming unease.

A suspicion which was quickly confirmed at Pawsome Pancakes. Fetch-N-Bites were serving my favorite steak – and unusually no other canine had so much as batted an eyelid at it. Monty wasn’t born yesterday. Admittedly, it was somewhere in the hazy recollection of years long past but I digress, something was up, steak or no steak.

As I trotted off into the White Westie Woods, clutching Lammy close I felt a chill in the air. The kind when Toby and I ran headfirst into a posse of those haughty French poodles next to Fetching Feline Pet Emporium. But this was more. Almost political. A word I was acquainted with thanks to Mammy’s penchant for blaring radios. Apparently, it stood for foes, friends, endless bickering, and carrots. The last one probably an error in context.

I did what every self-respecting bulldog faced with a political thriller on his paws would do. I set a course for Siberian Summit. Our bulldog mayor, Bully, would have the answers. But I’ll be quite frank here, I found myself rather aimlessly wandering around The Doggy Depot.

Later, under the clear, appetite-inducing aroma in the heart of The Woofy Bakery, I encountered Toby, mid pant in a frenzy. More was at stake than it seemed. Our beloved mayor appeared to have stepped on too many paws. We had a political coup at our doorstep! The well-barked canines of Pawsburg felt – wrongly in my humble but partially biased opinion – that mayor Bully’s recent proclamation against public ear cleaning was tyranny! Pure, unadulterated tyranny!

In the dog eat dog world of Pawsburg politics, no stone goes unturned, no ear goes uncleansed, and no dish goes untasted. As the Siberian Summit loomed ahead, Toby and I knew we had one mission: to sniff out, bring down this coup, and save our beloved Pawsburg. Hold on tight Monty, old boy, things are about to get very much like carrots.

The End.

Share This Story: