🐾 Episode 9: The Hollywood Pitch

The Hollywood studio gleamed like a temple to glamour: tall glass doors, sleek marble floors, and oversized movie posters adorning the walls. Inside, the air buzzed with ambition, coffee, and the faint whir of high-powered air conditioning.

I, Sir Woofington, sat quietly in a plush leather chair, my polished red bow tie snug against my throat, my spectacles slightly fogged from nerves. My paws trembled ever so faintly on the armrests. I was, dear reader, utterly out of my depth.

Beside me, E.P. Percival was in his element.

🎬 Percival’s Pitch

“Gentledogs, executives,” Percival began smoothly, pacing the room with a confident swing of his tail, “thank you for taking this meeting.”

The execs \u2014 sleek Labradors in tailored suits, a sharp-eyed Greyhound assistant, and an older Bulldog chewing a pen \u2014 gave polite, noncommittal nods.

“I’m here,” Percival continued, “to bring you the next hit streaming series. A global success, an all-four-quadrant smash.”

He clicked a button; the screen behind him lit up with images of me — Sir Woofington — strolling elegantly in my garden, penning stories at my writing desk, gazing thoughtfully over my koi pond.

“What’s the inspiration?” asked one exec lazily, scrolling on his phone.

Percival straightened. “It all began with the news reports. You saw them. Pages from a stolen journal, caught by the wind, scattered across continents. I caught them in Hollywood. And who wrote those pages?”
He gestured dramatically at me. “Sir Woofington himself.”

🐾 Doubt in the Room

The Bulldog exec grunted. “We’ve heard a dozen pitches with that idea already.”
“Talking dogs, thinking dogs, blogging dogs, you name it,” sighed the Labrador.
“Got anything new?” asked the Greyhound sharply.

I sat stiffly, trying to appear dignified, though inside I was quaking like a vibrating bed set to high. My nose twitched, my paws itched to adjust my spectacles, but I forced myself still.

Percival took a deep breath. “Gentledogs, this is not a gimmick. This is real. This is the authentic journal — the private longings, secret hopes, and noble reflections of one of England’s most dignified canines. And yes —” he added quickly, “we could even cast the pack of clever dogs who unearthed the journal in the first place.”

The Greyhound tilted her head. “So… it’s a crime show?”

“No!” Percival barked, sitting forward, eyes flashing. “It’s not a crime show. It’s an ongoing, heartfelt, beautifully crafted storyline about the secret dreams of Sir Woofington — his hopes, his humiliations, his triumphs. It’s a dream-of-a-story! Audiences will eat it up whole. And we’re talking all four quadrants: young, old, male, female. A sure-fire hit.”

🐾 The Roadblocks

The execs exchanged long, unreadable glances.
“Well,” began the Labrador slowly, “he’s got… a certain charm…”
“But maybe,” added the Bulldog thoughtfully, “he needs a bit of a makeover.”
“Nose to tail,” chimed in the Greyhound, already sketching notes on a pad. “Maybe slim the silhouette. Modernize the look. Sharpen the accent. Streamline the dialogue. We could—”

My ears flattened in horror. My bow tie suddenly felt tight, suffocating.
Percival glanced at me, his confident smile slipping ever so slightly.

“We’ll take it to committee,” the Labrador concluded. “No promises yet. But it’s an interesting project.”

Project. Not a story. Not a series. Not a dream. A project.

🐾 Closing Reflection

As we left the gleaming glass tower, I trotted silently beside Percival, my mind spinning.
A makeover?
An accent change?
Was this the path to sharing my stories with the world?

And deep inside, a cold little thought whispered:
Perhaps I am not ready for this world at all.

Would you like me to continue with Episode 10 — where Sir Woofington wrestles with his shaken confidence and Percival hatches a plan to win back the studio’s full confidence? 🌿🐾✨