“Dad, just another day in Pawsburgh. Summoned pug Lilly from the groomers, strategized at Shih Tzu Stadium, chased an ice cream truck only for it to run out of vanilla (outrageous, right?). Inspired a revolt at Woof and Whisker Center. Didn’t win the war, but the camaraderie and stolen hamburger made up for it. Say they think we chase our tails, but in Pawsburgh, every day’s our day! – Big Herm”

Listen to the story here.

Ah, just another day like any other in the bustling metropolis of Pawsburgh. Yours sincerely, Herman, reporting for duty. You know, the one with the debonair countenance. Yeah, that’s me. You see, I had just woken up from my indulgent siesta, my wrinkled body conveniently squashed on my favorite duck feather duvet, in a town where a dog can dream uninterrupted – a glorious city where ‘dog eat dog’ tactics take a backseat to camaraderie, games, and the pursuit of lip-smacking food.

“Come on, Lilly. Shake a paw, we’re late!” I hollered at my reluctant pug compatriot, my pulsating jowls trembling with impatience. Lilly, bless her heart, could turn thirty minutes into an eternity every time she paid a visit to The Groom Room.

We hurried through Brindle Brown Boxer Beach, darted past creamy Maltese Meadow, and finally rendezvoued at our usual haunt, Shih Tzu Stadium, where the usual suspects – Baker, Lil Rosie, and Pepper – awaited us. Baker welcomed us with a slobbery grin and a pat, as if the delay was inconsequential. Ornery old fool.

Gone were the days when chew toys would be the order of the day. Now, we were hatching plots. Revenge plots. Against the shrill sound of vacuums, dreaded ear cleaning sessions, and God forbid, the dreaded vet visits. But then, just after we’d ‘dognosed’ and got down to the nitty-gritty, our meeting was disrupted by a cacophony that could awaken the dead. An ice cream truck.

Now, normally, dogs chasing after an ice cream truck may not look very dignified. But for vanilla ice cream, all rules were meant to be broken. I hurled myself towards the sound, mercilessly plowing through the swarming crowd at Kibble Cuisine and The Bark Shak. Just as I reached the truck, panting with the exertion, I realized the horror that awaited me – it had run out of vanilla.

“This calls for revolt, ladies, and gentlemen. Not just for one, but for all the indignities we, the distinguished dogs of Pawsburgh, have tolerated,” I declared later that evening at Woof and Whisker Wellness Center, my indignation echoing off the walls. They nodded, eyes gleaming, voices echoing my outrage as we devised our plot against mankind’s misconceptions of canine likes and dislikes.

The thing with battles is that sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. But the real joy isn’t in the victory; it’s in the fight. The camaraderie. As I collapsed that night on the lush lawns of Cream Maltese Meadow under a starry sky, my friends loyally by my side, belly full of an especially stolen hamburger from The Barkery, and my monkey toy nestled close, I thought…’maybe they look at us and think we’re chasing our tails, but in our world, every dog must have its day’. In Pawsburgh, every day is a dog’s day.

The End.