The invitation came printed on a bone-shaped, gold-foiled card tucked inside a package of artisanal liver treats. Carlton found it on the doorstep next to three boxes of Buttermilk fan mail and a plush toy shaped like a mindful turnip.
"You are cordially invited to the First Annual Petfluencer Global Summit," Carlton read aloud, adjusting his glasses. "Location: Canine Cay, a private island resort. Dress code: Business casual, leashes optional."
Travis snatched the card. "Canine Cay? Isn't that the place with the saltwater dog pools and 24/7 treat buffets?"
Buttermilk yawned theatrically on the couch and rolled over, as if to say, Finally.
Arrival at Canine Cay
The island looked like a tropical catalog exploded and then carefully reorganized by a Shih Tzu with a taste for luxury. Palm trees swayed like dog tails in slow motion, and a golden retriever in sunglasses greeted them at the dock with a wag and a complimentary dog biscuit cocktail.
Carlton blinked at the sight of a corgi on a jet ski. "This place is insane."
"Insane?" Travis laughed. "This place is paradise."
Buttermilk strutted down the gangplank like she owned the island, her fluffy tail high, fur catching the breeze like a slow-motion shampoo ad.
They were ushered into the welcome lounge, where a French bulldog in a blazer handed out itineraries while balancing a clipboard on his head. The schedule was packed:
9 AM: Kibble & Branding Breakfast
11 AM: BarkTok Algorithm Secrets Panel
1 PM: Tail-End Merch Trends
3 PM: Guided Paw-lates
6 PM: The Golden Collar Awards Ceremony
"We need to hit every panel," Travis whispered, already scribbling notes. "This is our chance to scale. Expand. Go global."
Carlton, who was more interested in the free snacks than scaling anything, eyed the pile of salmon-treat sushi. "Can we start with snacks?"
Buttermilk chose the salmon. Obviously.
Networking with the Elite
By noon, they'd met:
Bark Zuckerberg, a Great Dane who ran a crypto for pet treats
Lady Woofington, a poodle with a monocle and 5 million followers in the tea-review niche
Snuffles the Third, a Chihuahua fashion mogul with a personal tailor
Buttermilk handled the socializing like a pro. She sniffed where appropriate, posed for selfies, and even shared a synchronized tail wag with a famous Instagram husky named Zen.
"Do you smell that?" Carlton whispered during a panel.
"The tuna sashimi?"
"No, opportunity."
Travis nodded, eyes gleaming. "We're in. Like, in in."
The Golden Collar Awards
The ballroom glittered like a giant chew toy made of diamonds. Chandeliers shaped like bones dangled above a red carpet flanked by cameras and barking fans. Buttermilk wore a custom lavender cape stitched with eco-friendly sequins.
Carlton adjusted her tiny golden crown. "You ready to lose gracefully if we don't win?"
Buttermilk sneezed. Carlton took that as a yes.
The awards began. Categories included:
Best BarkTok Transition
Most Philosophical Tail Wag
Best Use of Zoomies in a Brand Deal
Lifetime Achievement in Sniffing
They won three. Buttermilk's acceptance speeches were mostly sniffles and one prolonged blink.
But it was the final award that shook the room: The Supreme Pawfluencer of the Year.
"And the Golden Collar goes to... BUTTERMILK!"
Travis screamed. Carlton screamed. Buttermilk barked once—low, regal, powerful.
The room exploded with applause and squeaky toys tossed in celebration.
Trouble in Paradise
Later that night, as they lounged in their luxury cabana (complete with a self-replenishing bone-shaped mini-fridge), Carlton frowned.
"You know what comes next, right?"
Travis sipped from a coconut. "World domination?"
Carlton shook his head. "Copycats. Brand dilution. Overexposure. We need to protect the essence of Buttermilk."
Buttermilk, lounging on her velvet dog chaise, grunted. Then passed gas. Again.
"She's right," Carlton muttered. "We have to stay real."
Exit Stage Left
Before leaving the island, Buttermilk was offered six endorsement deals, a Netflix documentary, and an honorary doctorate in Pawlosophy.
They politely declined the doctorate.
On the flight home, Carlton looked out the window. "So what's next for the Queen of Fluff?"
Travis shrugged. "She'll tell us. When she's ready."
Back home, Buttermilk immediately jumped into her favorite laundry basket and fell asleep mid-snore.
The crown slid off her head. Travis picked it up, smiling. "Still just a dog."
Carlton nodded. "A dog who made it to the top and still prefers nap time."
Buttermilk farted.
Carlton opened a window.