Hey there, it’s Gracie! Just finished my nightly Pawsburg circuit: made Suki serve me up an extra smoky platter, charmed the socks off Brady and Charlie on the beach, and held a squeaky duck serenade. Had to lay down the law on Brady again for the grapefruit misstep. Now settled in, avoiding the rain. All in a night’s work for the Queen of Pawsburg! Toodles, G.

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Alright, parks closed, darkness creeping in, owners start snoring, the whole nine yards. That’s Pawsburg party time, honey, and let me tell you, no one parties like the Kennel Club – ask Gracie.

First stop on Gracie’s evening soiree was usually Dog-gone Good BBQ. The scent of smoking hickory and grilled chicken was like a pull-tab for her, she was reeled into that place and the owners couldn’t keep her out if they tried. Talk about a nose for troubles. If Gracie was Guinness, every night would be a Puke Rainbow™, but that classy gal knew her limits.

“We’ve been expecting you, Gracie,” the waitress, a sleek Saluki named Suki, would chuckle as she brought out Gracie’s specialty: chicken, no jerky, extra smoky. A flirtatious exchange, I guess, the language of the lean cuisine. And you know what? We dug it.

Post dinner antics had us head out to the Spotted Red Beagle Beach, where Brady and Charlie, her unofficial entourages, would be waiting in line just to get a whiff of that Brit dame. Funny thing about Brady and Charlie – they were always competing for Gracie’s paw of approval. Nothing sitcom worthy like “The Real Housepets of Pawsburg,” but rather a classy, “Paw-throne” rivalry.

Gracie, in her highborn attitude, reveled in the attention, playing her squeaky duck in rhythm with their ardent confessions. Yet, notedly drew lines when Brady tried to sneak her a grapefruit cocktail. Citrus, the Voldemort in her diet.

“The audacity, that Irish canine!” She’d snap, her prancing feet stomping a statement on the sands, “Princes don’t serve their ladies poison.”

Post dramatic escapade, we’d trudge back up Siberian Summit. Gracie would snuggle in, paws curled beneath her, securely tucked in like a Brit taking high tea, eyes drifting off to a serene shutdown. She loved the outdoors, yet despised the rain. So, any whiff of storm pushed her indoors. Nature, talk about a double jeopardy!

Through it, the thrills, the guffaws, the ‘how-about-no’ grapefruit, the tales of Pawsburg grew rich around Gracie, and us, her eccentric entourage, playing our parts as Brady and me, Charlie. The unsought doggy courtiers in Gracie’s “Pet Bachelor”.

And that’s a night in our Pawsburg. A modern day doggy paradise with our beloved Gracie reigning supreme, a duck toy in paw, and a ceaseless tale of wit, drama, and delight. Ain’t it a full bowl encore, friends?

The End.