Hey there,

It’s your Dukester, a sub-urban canine turned island castaway! Found myself in a bit of a pickle lately, a flipped boat and stuck on a deserted beach. But fear not, harnessed our inner adventurers and survival skills, beat the odds, and even built a dog fort! Woof-woof and all that jazz! The tale is long, the spirits high, love from your local furball, Duke. 🐾

Listen to the story here

If it wasn’t for my morning escape to Pawsburg, where I meet my pals at our favourite hangout – Collie Canyon, you would have thought my life was all about that white fence and Miss Catherine’s wind chimes. But here’s a funny thing about us dogs – we crave adventure. And boy oh boy, did we stumble into a big one.

“Mamma mia, what a dog’s dinner,” Jax – the local Dalmatian – muttered, staring at the flotsam surrounding us, with a dismayed look over his face that could curdle milk. The boat that was supposed to transport us to Pawsburg had tipped over, leaving us in the middle of nowhere.

“Well, don’t just stand there! Fetch!” I tossed my tennis ball towards the tree line on the beach. We needed firewood, and Jax could use a little distraction.

“Seriously? Fetch?” he replied, disgust coloring his every word. But still, he bolted after the ball.

“Waggle n’ Wok, Pupperoni Pizza, even a bone from Bark and Bites, would be good right now,” mused Rex, the German Shepherd, his stomach audibly rumbling. A rumbling stomach rings a familiar bell; It’s the cronut crisis from Corgi Castle all over again.

Bracing myself on my hind legs, I surveyed our surroundings. We have coconuts, leaves, sticks, but no bell peppers – God knows we dogs don’t much care for them. Not even in survival situations.

“Maybe, we could make our own Bone and Bites,” suggested Muffin, the inquisitive Corgi who often meanders too far into Corgi Castle.

“You think Groom Room is gonna save us now, Muffin?” Rex quipped in his curt way. A terrible sense of humor, that one.

We needed shelter; our shaggy coats won’t protect us from the nocturnal chill. By twilight, with the combined efforts and teamwork typical of dogs, we erected a dainty little dog fort.

Exhausted, we huddled around a crackling fire, under the open sky, beseeching our dog stars for guidance. No groom salon or wellness center could replicate the camaraderie around that errant bonfire. I nuzzled a bit closer into Rex’s warming bulk, missing the comforting glow of Miss Catherine’s humble porch light.

By the time moonlight bathed our sandy refuge, hope gleamed in our eyes. Whether it was the stunning constellation or the squeaky tennis ball I’ve managed to retrieve, I’m not sure. But it was decided: we’re dogs. We solve problems; we survive; we find a way back home.

Morning arrived on a salty sea-breeze, carrying echoes of the bustling Pawsburg. We woofed at the sun, readied ourselves, and charged towards the daunting odds. Ok, perhaps my enthusiasm was infectious, or maybe it was just typical dog nature, but heck, we felt alive.

“Well, here’s looking at you,” I muttered, tossing the squeaky ball towards the sea, “Wish us luck, eh?” It squeaked its approval as it disappeared with a splash.

We weren’t merely a bunch of suburb neighborhood dogs anymore. We were adventurers, survivors. Tail wagging, eyes sparkling with resolve, we embarked on the journey back home – to Pawsburg, the town we so fondly snuck off to. Embracing the untold tales of survival, we returned – stronger, bolder, and still hopelessly in love with life. Ladies and gentlemen, that’s a day in the life of Duke, your local furry survivor.

The End.

Share This Story: