Hey fam, Belle the Fetch Fest champ here! Bolted through Pawsburg, grabbed a quick snack, ducked the heat under hydrants, and won my golden medal. All before breakfast! A fetching Queen, that’s me. Catch you at the porch for the encore fetch. – QueenB. 🐾🏅

Listen to the story here

The sun had barely made its grand entrance when I stirred from my comfy leather couch back on planet Earth and shifted onto my paw-trod route, headed for Pawsburg. Wouldn’t want the humans to catch whiff you see, creeps them out a bit knowing we’ve got our own little doggie paradise. Just around the dawn, fellow adventurers and half-tail heroes of Pawsburg were assembling for our grand venture in the sports extravaganza ‘Fetch Fest’.

Fetching and I, well not the best of chums originally, until that neon alien squeaky ball entered my life and turned me into a fetching fanatic. Small, feisty, and daring, that’s how they’d announce me in the games. Pursuit of the squeaky ball, my arena.

Dodging past Poodle Pond, I made a pit stop at Sniff ‘n’ Snack for a pep-meal, wolfing down a piece of the finest Furrific Fried Chicken without spilling a crumb onto my shimmering silver coat. A quick whiz through Pet Partners Pet Supplies and I was armed with my neon pink squeaky ball.

With reminiscence of my backyard chases, I found my spot at the starting line, beneath the shadow of towering South Poodle Pond with the haunting Labradoodle Lake shimmering in the distance. I made a brief mental note to avoid falling into the glossy tendrils of the latter.

The race started! And there we were bolting across fields, chasing that darn ball like the final treat of the day. Adrenaline surged through our veins, kick-started by the irresistible scent of a butter glazed bagel from The Doggy Bagel Deli wafting through Spa for Paws.

Splash! One of us dived face-first into Poodle Pond in pursuit of the squeaky culprit escaping its clutches. Laughter unfolded in the background, echoing from The Snooty Snout Boutique. But the heat – ah, my nemesis the sun – murmuring its scorching sonnets, singing blisters unto my fur.

“Oh, fiddlesticks!” I recall panting, sheltering beneath a towering hydrant that seemed as hot as dragon’s breath itself.

“Survived the race, I reckon?” came a sympathetic voice, notable for its feline sarcasm. The sassy Persian, the feline oracle down the road—contender of the Deep Slumber Competition—and an unlikely ally shared my shade.

A wet snout nudged my side, the Border Collie with worry clouding his usually merry eyes. “Your Final Fetch awaits,” he hinted, pointing towards the neon pink ball resting by the family porch, the end line. Empowered, I bolted towards the porch, vision dancing, heart pounding.

And there it was, my squeaky triumph, resting on my favorite starting and finish line, the family porch. Panting heavily, I vowed to chase the shadows henceforth, leaving the scorching duels to the bigger, heftier pups.

And so I returned to my cool shade and juice box, the queen of the fetch realm, adorned not just with my silky silver coat but now with a shiny golden medal hanging around my proud little neck. And as I watched my dear, clueless humans unknowing of my heroic adventure, Pawsburg softly faded into the backdrop, the secret safely kept till the next twilight escapade.

The End.