Hey, it’s Oscar, the Hound of Pawsburg. Stopped an evil feline from turning our city into Meowville today. Involved a bit of roughhousing and a K9 Kebab grill-off – my salmon won! (Teddy assisted valiantly, of course.) Now back to snoozing by the human. Paws and Peace, O.

Listen to the story here

It’s a hoot every time I scamper into Pawsburg, a hound’s haven if there ever was one. The rambunctious energy of the place could rival that of my own four paws. You ain’t seen nothin’ till you’ve seen the sights of Brindle Brown Boxer Beach, basked in the serenity at Shepherd Skyline, or taken a swim in Golden Retriever River. Scrumptious nosh awaits at every corner—I love my salmon from The Cat’s Meow Sushi; no oysters though, thank you very much.

One morning, with human snoozing soundly on the couch, I slipped out and was off to Pawsburg, teddy bear hanging precariously from my mouth. Having just coup-led my favorite toy from the evil clutches of the washer, I was looking forward to a rendezvous with my Boxer pals at Central Bark.

But fate had planned an unfortunate detour for young Oscar here. Strolling down Pawsburg, I found that the Pawfect Training Center had been mysteriously closed. The Howling Husky Hardware Store was desolate. And to make matters worse, even Spa for Paws was in a state of eerie silence. It was as if all of Pawsburg had gone on holiday.

Sniffing the air, I traced the pungent scent of something fishy to K9 Kebabs. And there he was, Mouser, the villainous feline, grinning wickedly, hell-bent on taking over Pawsburg, turning it into Meowville or some feline-fancy city.

“Well, well,” he purred, swiveling on the chef’s stool. “If it isn’t the frolicking little Shih Tzu.”

I dropped my teddy, squared my shoulders and puffed my chest. “I won’t let you destroy Pawsburg, Mouser!”

An epic showdown ensued. Mouser with his sharp claws and me with my..well, biting wit. There was a bit of roughhousing, some heated words exchanged, but eventually, it was a healthy round of K9 Kebab grill-off that settled the score.

I grilled a salmon and Mouser a tuna. Of course, the judge had to be impartial, so we roped in Boris, the grumpy old Boxer from Central Bark. There’s no dog who understands flavor better than ol’ Boris.

As I served up my grilled salmon topped with a creamy sauce, Boris gave one nod of approval, and that was all we needed. Mouser scowled, his tuna kabab left untouched.

Pawsburg, my beloved dog-town, was safe for another day. Celebrations ensued at Sniff ‘n’ Snack. And as for Mouser, let’s just say, he had lost one of his nine lives, at least in Pawsburg.

Back home, I resumed my position next to slumbering human, my beloved teddy in my mouth – the hero of Pawsburg, valiantly warding off dastardly cats and washing machines alike.

The End.

Share This Story: