Hey Dad, you’ve missed the chaos of Pawsburg Olympics by the bay! Even stuffed Grogu’s dancing in the wind here! Fell for the ol’ steak french-fries, laughed off a shrimp fiasco at Woofy Bakery, and put on a show for the lot with Lil Rosie. Favorite bit? Cat trespassing central park, oh the wagging of disapproval! Just another day in wild, loud Pawsburg where I’m your reigning star, Bobo.

Listen to the story here.

Sitting majestically atop the craggy rocks of East Bulldog Bay, I observed rogues of our canine society attempting a synchronized leap into the fleeting waves, as if recreating their version of the Pawsburg Olympics. Grogu, my loyal stuffed confidant, sat next to me on the smooth weather-beaten pebbles, the robust wind manipulating his fabric limbs in a comical dance. That’s the thing about Pawsburg; even lifeless things sprout moves here.

“Albert, you would enjoy this spectacle if you weren’t so glued to that green thing!” Baker barked, punctuating his sentence with lengthy slobbering pants. Lilly the pug and Lil Rosie, my doppelganger, joined his raucous laughter.

Laughter did, indeed abound in Pawsburg, much like the aroma wafting from Bark and Bites, the guilty pleasure of many a dog’s waistline. A heavenly scent of steak french-fries wafted in my direction, and I succumbed to the temptation, braving the sandy terrain for a hefty snack.

The day marched forward in typical Pawsburg fashion, a meandering timeline of sunbathing sessions in Greyhound Grove, games of Tug of Barks (an evolved form of tug-of-war), and the grand feast with my inseparable pals at Sniff ‘n’ Snack – the only place where one may indulge unjudged in vanilla ice cream and surmounting piles of Lemonheads.

The sundown painted the sky with hues ripped straight from my dreams, accompanied by the tolling of the common area bell, heralding the nightly gathering. We were a mismatched troupe ready to weave magic into the night – and by magic, I mean adventures of the circular racing, treasure hunting, dream weaving variety.

It wasn’t entirely perfect, though. My visit to The Woofy Bakery turned into a chaotic scene excerpted from a screwball comedy when I was accidentally served a shrimp filled pie. The horror, I tell you! And Lil Rosie fancied herself a performer, turning the bakery into a stage, regaling an impromptu, yet elaborate tale about driving a vacuum away by cleaning its ears. To honor to my eminent fright, Lil Rosie mimicked the vacuum’s sounds to stupendous laughter, while I cringed in a corner.

However, the night’s pièce de résistance occurred when a cat strayed into Pawsburg Central, our prized evening leisure spot in Yellow Tan Dalmatian Desert, and the mass-disapproval wagging the trespasser away had even Grogu themselves bursting with mirth, I’m sure.

Pawsburg was an amalgamation of wild pursuits, loud barks, and embarrassing, yet endearing events, a riotous laughter-infused haven. But the laughter only fueled my love for this hidden utopia; it was the world where I was not just Albert, but a reigning star, an English Bulldog with a comedic reign, surrounded by the subjects of Pawsburg I loved and who loved me back.

The End.