“Dad, just returned from heroic deeds in Pawsburgh! Had intense game of fetch, mourned lost squeaky duck in the Bermuda Triangle of Boxer Beach, comforted myself with Bacon Sliders and even paid respects at Doggy Depot. Found you back home with a juicy T-bone. Life is pawsome. Adventure tomorrow? Signed, your favorite bulldog, The Spitfire Caped Crusader”

So, there I was, snoring louder than a lawnmower in summer, nestled comfortably in my dad’s favorite recliner, when I noticed the sun making its slow descent past Lower Silver Siberian Summit. Dad had been out of town, but this was the part of the day I’d been looking forward to – adventure time.

Now, what they don’t tell humans is that Pawsburgh, the place we dogs sneak off when they’re away, is not just a myth. It’s real, amigos, just as real as my aversion to celery. Suiting up in my old tweed waistcoat and Spitfire cap, I glided into the night, leaving behind the monotony of the four walls my human misinterprets as “home.”

Sauntering through the Westie Woods with my comrades – Boss, Socks, and Bite-size, (we’re a bit like Pawsburgh’s answer to Dickens’ Musketeers, minus the swash and plus the buckle), I could smell the mouth-watering aroma of the Fetching Deli’s pork chops wafting through the cool evening air. Oh boy, if only dad knew the carnivorous delights we were privy to, he’d be barking to tag along!

Our first point of call was an intense showdown at Boxer Beach. Picture this – four dogs, one squeaky rubber duck and the highest stakes game of fetch your canine brain could ever conceive. Just as Bite-size was about to claim victory, the blue duck went soaring out of bounds, landing in the fathomed Bermuda Triangle of Boxer Beach.

“Furballs!” I huffed, “There’s another duck lost to the void.” That place was like the Upside Down from dad’s favorite show ‘Stranger Things,’ utterly horrifying in a way only a mutt could understand. Let’s just say it’s the celery of local topographies.

After mourning my favorite toy with a few rounds of comfort Bacon Sliders at Pooched Potatoes, we wandered our melancholic selves over to the Wagging Tail Bookstore. It’s always been a calming spot, with Boss particularly drawn to the philosophy section – that Dogue de Bordeaux thinks he’s the canine Socrates.

To round off the evening, we decided to pay our respects to the monument right in the heart of Pawsburgh, The Doggy Depot- a treasure trove full of squeaky toys, even blue ducks, a constant reminder of those fallen in service. The evening concluded with a solemn supper at the Barkery, where, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a glimmering blue object, deep within the confines of our Bermuda Triangle.

“Oh boy, what if? Just what if…” My heart pounded with excitement and fear. But that’s a story for another day, or in canine terms, ‘post-nap.’

The journey back home was quiet as we bid temporary adieus, knowing full well we’d see each other tomorrow, same time, same sort of drama. For the time being, the four walls beckoned and I knew somewhere deep inside the recliner missed me, just like how I missed the squeaky blue duck.

As I nudged open our backdoor, I caught a whiff of something much too tantalizing to be dog food. Oh yes, the T-bone’s delicious, juicy scent was in the air and my heart beat faster than a cat caught in a dog run. Dad was back. Adventure lay both within and beyond the four walls. In the end, for this bulldog, life in its chaotic hue was nothing less than pawsome.

And so, till the next adventure, adios amigos!

The End.