Hey Mom, it’s Bernie. Today in Pawsburg, I fetched tennis balls faster than lightning, won the ‘Great Fetch Off’ with my old stuffy, turned my nose up on broccoli at Kibble Cuisine, and shared laughs with my buddy at the Pampered Pooch Salon. From sports champ to food critic, it’s all in a day’s work for your little gavone!

Listen to the story here

In time smothered yesteryears and mischief-clad, star lit nights, my dear chum Bernie and I, we’d traipse off to Pawsburg. An enchanted township of dogs, where under the blanket of twinkling constellations our four-legged comrades carried out rapturous escapades. At the break of dawn, we’d lope alongside the Southern Golden Retriever River, Bernie’s dense, black and brown coat glistening under the early sunshine.

Pawsburg’s renowned Golden Gate Gardens is where the games commenced. Strutting our way into the verdant field, we’d be greeted by Dukie’s vim and vigour, Jupiter’s steely determination and George’s camaraderie; a bunch of allies bonded in the psychedelic world of competitive sports. And there I was, Bernie’s steadfast mate.

First off, the tennis ball. All eyes fixated on the vibrant yellow sphere, as I unleashed it across the field. Bernie, with the unflinching spirit of a true athlete, would dart, his agile form embodying the phrase ‘speed of light’. The glory of a well-fought victory reflected in Bernie’s eyes as he’d seize the ball, triumphantly trotting back, a victor.

And then, the ‘Great Fetch Off’ at the Fetching Deli! Bernie, armed with his loved worn-out stuffy, rivalled fierce contestants. His speed, skill and the uncanny intuition crowned him the unquestioned champion, time and again.

Post these high-spirited games, the chow came into the picture. Bernie with his peculiar taste in food – a paradox of dog nature – was the centre of attention. A dinner at Kibble Cuisine would have him relishing juicy chicken thighs, while an offered broccoli was met with a dismayed sniff and a prompt turn of his snout. Quite the gourmand, was old Bernie, demanding precisely what his palate fancied.

Between the whirlwind of games and gourmandising, there were our muted pauses, belonging solely to Bernie and me. We’d sneak away from the limelight, finding solace at the Canine Cafe. Sipping on a warm cup of dog-friendly cappuccino, I’d find Bernie loosening up, his mighty guard down, revealing the curious soul that lies underneath his tough outer shell.

Our times in the Pampered Pooch Salon often drew to laughter-filled closures. Bernie, with his unique demeanor, would question the very existence of a dog spa, tilting his head with endearing confusion, while his coat was buffed and fluffed to perfection. It was hilarious! Yet, the Pawsburg hair-raising sports had left us – especially Bernie – needing this pampering.

Quirky, charismatic, and loveable; that was Bernie for you. Our champion, our friend, our food connoisseur. His story, our adventure in a dog’s life, our shared victories in the sports arena. And though how we rue the day the broccoli crosses his path again, nothing can alter the sweet taste of our shared memories in that magical land called Pawsburg.

The End.

Share This Story: