The wind was slicin’ through North Chihuahua Castle like a blade. Gus, an English Bulldog with more beef than brains, was on patrol. His sturdy tan silhouette casting long shadows on the cobblestone streets under the pale, cloud-hidden moonlight.

Doors bolted. Lights extinguished. Silence screamed through the alleyways. Nightlife had a different ring to it in Spencerville – not crowded bars or glammed-up gals, but the sounds of loyal pets dreaming, scattered light from the Pupsicle Palace flickered across silent structures. Gus had it easy, though, at The Fetching Deli, where they didn’t mind when cardboard boxes mysteriously disappeared.

It was Gus’s beat, his territory to police. And he was good at it – holding down the fort against the menacing vacuums or the disrespectful watermelons daring to cross his way. Swimming was a chore best left to the fiends at Lower Golden Gate Gardens and walks? That was the job for those spriteful suckers at Happy Hounds Dog Walking, Gus couldn’t be bothered with ’em. Gives you an idea of the fella, does it? All bark and no walk.

Down by Bullmastiff Boardwalk, the night stretched lazily, yawning. A shipment of oatmeal cream pies at The Woofy Bakery needed an escort. Gus, the stubborn goof, couldn’t resist a good score and the sight of cream pies was enough to make his green eyes blaze with an inner flame. That would come later. For now, it was just the wind and the whispers of the tailors at The Tail Wagger’s Tailor who had seen a frosty night or two.

But the lake, yeah Gus was always drawn to the lake, like a moth to a flame. This night was no different. He found solace in its glassy reflection, a mirror to his stubbornness, loyalty and love. It was in these quiet moments I envied him, hoped for his unwavering courage in a town that never slept, filled with absense and the hopeful lament of a reunion that may or may not come.

Difference between me and Gus, besides obvious, is he enjoyed the silence. See, he didn’t like company much. A maverick if you will, finding solace in the company of a few good pals, the standouts amongst the usual growling choir.

The night gradually nodded off, creeping into daybreak with Gus’s beat echoing faintly in a new day, waiting for its hero to return from an escapade of cardboard sleep-ins and secret cream pie snatches. The essence of Spencerville, the ever-loyal, cream pie-loving Gus, was its beating heart.

Should something happen to Gus, I shudder at the thought, the morning fog wouldn’t roll in the same, nor would the sun sit idly in the eastern sky. But until then, we know that in Spencerville, our fates are delicately held in the paws of a tan bulldog with a white stripe. I don’t know about you, but that is a comforting thought. Gus’s character is as stubborn as it is eccentric, and it’s his town now, after all. Spencerville has always had a way of becoming its inhabitants, and Gus, stubborn old Gus, he might as well be the mayor.

Hey Mom, it’s Gus Gus 🐶. Just on my usual late-night patrol of North Chihuahua Castle. Stopped by Fetching Deli, got some cardboard samples 😜. Policed my turf, even those rowdy watermelons! Anyway, strolled down Bullmastiff Boardwalk, mainly to score some cream pies from Woofy’s. Also, visited the lake, ya know how it calls me😌 It’s crazy here in Spencerville, but it won’t be the same w/out your Bubby Bear patrolling. Relax – your Big Sexy is holding the fort. I might as well be the mayor. 🏰🌠🐕- Fur Rocket.

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