‘Hey fam, visited White Westie Woods today with a talking feather buddy. Chased mysteries of Pawsburg. Nearly got sidetracked by roasted chicken drumsticks, but survived. Met Toby & Brutus at The Canine Café, had a standoff with Whiskers but still had a blast. Caught the moonlight over Pawsburg Park. Pawsburg forever, day or night, dream or reality. 🐾 Rosie.’

Listen to the story here

‘You know, not everything in Pawsburg is about frisking and frolicking, wagging tails and wet noses,’ I said to the floating feather beside me. It turned, a glittering eye blinked at me from its downy mass, and as is customary with talking feathers and objects of mythical yarns, it sighed.

I am Rosie, the Lab of golden glimmers and sunlight aura. The feathered comrade and I stood at the edge of White Westie Woods that day, my trusty rubber bone clutched in my paw. ‘I carry it for the luck,’ I murmured to the feather, which raised an eyebrow – or where an eyebrow should’ve been.

‘And what’s so special about Lower Silver Siberian Summit again?’ the feather asked. I responded with a theatrical shiver.

‘My chap, it’s haunted by the ghost of a thousand squeaky toys.’ The proclamation echoed off into the distance and was met by the roar from the depths of the Collie Canyon. ‘There are mysteries in Pawsburg even canine magic can’t fathom.’

Engulfed by the aroma of roasting chicken drumsticks drifting from Paws on the Grill, I momentarily lost my train of thought and tilted my head in a reflex. ‘Blasted drumsticks, they will be my downfall,’ I muttered.

The feather chuckled and danced along the breeze as we swam through the crowd at The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium into The Howling Husky Hardware Store. An iron robot whirred past us, sparks flying. ‘Ah, steampunk chic. Just what a dog town needs,’ the feather observed drily and I couldn’t help but bark out a laughter…quietly, of course.

Eventually, we found ourselves at the entrance of The Canine Café where Toby and Brutus were already making merry, Brutus’s tail thumping rhythmically onto the floor, and Toby yapping at a hat-stand. A normal day, then.

Suddenly, the cheeriness froze, a cold wind blew. All eyes turned – Whiskers was here. His sleek, shiny fur shimmered under the dingy electric light. The place turned into a standoff arena.

But as his eyes met mine, I let out a low growl. This place was still Pawsburg, our town, where the vibrancy of vitality caressed every brick, every squeaky toy, and every half-chewed drumstick. Casting him a deliberate grin, I raised my treasured rubber bone in a mock toast to him, then tossed the bone aside to Brutus.

In true Pawsburg spirit, the tension dissipated. We barked on the buttered scones while the feather recited tales of canine valor from the ancient days, a wave of laughter billowing and spreading like wild tickles under our fur.

The night fell. Toby dozed off on Brutus’s giant belly, I was left gawking at Pawsburg Park bathed in silvery moonlight. If such a place as Pawsburg in the real world was a dream, then the Pawsburg that slumbered under a moon-drenched night was pure magic. Sighing, with my eyes full of starlight, I knew, magic or not, dream or real, Pawsburg would forever own my heart.

The End.