Hey Mom, it’s Frenchie! Just thought you should know, had a wild night with the gang at Pawsburg. Yep, the Pet Games came around and guess who emerged the victor? Yours truly! Nervous but courageous, I leaped, flipped, and even outsmarted that pesky lawnmower. So, your little bulldog is now officially the champion! Licks n Wags, your Champ, Frenchie! 🐾🏆

Listen to the story here

Like clockwork each night, as the humans tucked themselves into their beds, we, their loving pets, sneaked away to Pawsburg, a quaint and bustling town just beyond the pet flap. I happen to be Frenchie, an English bulldog, whose physique could intimidate any mean junkyard fellow, but carry the heart of quite a gentle lady, irrespective of the masculine name.

One night, under the serene parchment of a moonlit sky, the entire town convened at the East Pug Palace’s grand amphitheater. A hush fell as the notice was posted: “The Pet Games shall commence!” A stir of thrill and anxiety whiffled through the air. As the English bulldog representative, I was thrust into the tumultuous swirl of this contest of eminence.

Trotting down the streets of Pawsburg, I decided to prep at the Fetch-N-Bites, the eatery famous for their mouthwateringly crispy bacon strips. Upon entering, I exchanged a knowing nod with Rosco, the chef. As part of our secret pact, he served me a juicy platter, a perfect fuel for the upcoming contest. Meanwhile, the disdain still strong in me, detested the pile of carrots placed conspicuously in the corner.

Later, wandering idly through the streets of Pawsburg, we came across The Groom Room. Max, my partner in mischief and co-adventurer, suggested a strategy discussion over combing and grooming. An odd proposal, yet strangely appealing. Ensuring our coats were prim and proper, we prepared for the hardest of battles, knowing well that appearances often matter in these acrimonious games.

The following morning, we found ourselves at the border of the Eastern White Westie Woods, the chosen venue for the Pet Games. Earning the reputation of a war zone for ambitious paws, it was where champions were born and legends etched into memory. It was every dog for themselves, and the rules of the game were as simple: complete the prior set tasks and advance to the next round. Though I was admittedly nervous, my red squeaky bone, a symbol of my win from a previous tug-of-war, was my lucky charm and beacon of courage.

Throughout the sometimes grueling, other times absurdly enjoyable games, I put forth everything I possessed. Every wrinkle on my face seemed imbued with grit, and my ice-blue eyes sparkled with determination. Whether it was jumping over the hoop, doing a backflip, or showing my adversary, the neighboring lawnmower, who really was the boss, I played the Pet Games like a true champion; full of courage, honor, and wit.

As the sun set and the victor was to be declared, the entire town gathered in Black Bulldog Bay. My heart pounded as they unrolled the parchment and read out loud, “The Champion of ‘The Pet Games’ is – Frenchie!”

A roar of jubilation echoed in the night, and I, triumphant, basked in the glory of my win. Pawsburg had chosen, and I stood not just another English bulldog but rather the symbol of the resourceful spirit of Pawsburg. Friends, our story ends here. But life in Pawsburg, that’s a tale that goes on, lived with spirit, courage, and a healthy dose of bacon strips.

The End.