“Hey fam,
Curley here. Wish you could see Spencerville, where we bridge the gap between our worlds. Dawn racquetball fetches & tail wags are our love language. I’m doing good, mixing racquetball with a generous helping of steak and chicken – avoiding tomatoes though. Spencerville has BBQ parties, shopping sprees, and even art galleries, all canine-themed. Miss you loads, but here amidst loving licks and wagging tails, your love is felt the same warm way. Can’t wait to paw the racquetball again with you. Love, Curley.”

As I stretched and yawned into an ungodly hour, I heard the soft clang of the racquetball bouncing off the floor. Curley, the voracious Keeshond, was already up, his mind buzzing in the heart of Spencerville. It was not a typical town, you see. We were inhabitants of quite the idiosyncratic location, a realm somewhere between our beloved departed pets and us, their waiting owners.

“Do you really need to play racquetball so early, Curley?” I sleepily grumbled. A pertinent question, I thought, given the hour and venue. His tail wagged, sending a snowstorm of dark gray, light gray, and black fur flying through the air.

“A sequence of boisterous tail thumps and racquetball fetches at dawn – a currency of love,” I mused, passing one weary hand through his double-layered coat. Clearly, I had given in again. No doubt, Curley considered this a game, lost and won in the same morning breath.

Life sure was odd in Spencerville. It had a delightful sort of madness that quietly snuck up on you on quiet mornings. You would find yourself in the heart of a BBQ party at ‘Dog-gone Good BBQ,’ or in the midst of a fetching shopping spree at ‘The Howling Husky Hardware Store.’ Suddenly, you would find yourself pondering over a slobber-covered canvas at The Furry Friends Art Gallery. All this among the Fawn Pug Palace’s curious confusion, or the deceptive calm of the Tan Dalmatian Desert.

And there amidst the barks, the licks, the wagging tails and furry peace, we found what we didn’t know we were looking for: a continuation of the life we cherished with our pets. I would often cook Curley his absolute favorites. After all, who could resist a little indulgence of steak, chicken, and the occasional apple? And we shied away from the odd tomato kicking about, a flying red missile to both our states of mind.

As Curley pawed at his racquetball, I remembered how little he liked being alone. Much like how we missed them, they too missed us. But Curley was alright, and so was I. One in our odd realm of Spencerville, chuckling at the canines gleefully queuing up at Bow Wow Burgers and Doggy Donuts, and the other in the real world, waiting and reminiscing.

And we were okay, because we were in Spencerville. And although its sun shone differently, the love that radiated was familiar, warm. Because as I looked at Curley, sunbathing gleefully without a care, chasing his racquetball, we silently understood that the heart was not measured in beats or moments, but in the love, we shared. And in that, we were infinite. We were home.

The End.

Share This Story: