🐾 Woof from Spencerville! Bear Cub here and I’ve got a tale to yap about. 🐾

Kinda zoomies, but the world 🌍 hit the fuzz ball, and we ended up ruling the roost here, getting belly rubs from life. Vincent’s 🐾s unflew, replaced with fish n’chip dreams 🍟🐟 and plenty belly scratching from Princess Victoria, even in the rain he hates ☔️.

Full tummies and waggy tails 🐕 from an endless pantry over here. Vincent, the former kitchen filibuster, is now a hound of honor 💪.

Amid all, we carry you in our hearts 💕, walking in your shadow, wagging in your joy. Keep your whiskers up, and tails wagging till we meet, but not just yet 🙂. No matter, we’re hearty chewers here in our paradise, Spencerville 🥩🌲.

Woofs n’ Wags,
Bear Cub (aka Baby, Buddha, Teddy Bear) 🐾

Life, I’ve come to learn, sometimes is a chewed leather strap of mysteries, and often you are the labrador, gnawing who-knows-what-and-why, and that’s just the way it falls. And then, as if the world turned into a hound’s gallery of puzzles, you found yourself right smack in the middle of Spencerville, the world’s most illustrious canine community, doing your bit to keep all four legs on the ground, waiting for your ol’ people.

Why, you ask? The apocalypse, my friend. The world as we knew it bit the dust, fell off the wagon, crashed and burned. Hounds like Vincent and me, we endured. Rebuilt. Amassed our community of tail-waggers over steaks and…well, mostly steaks.

Life in Spencerville? I’d be lying if I claimed it to be anything less than a hound’s paradise. I frequented the Tail Waggers bar, sipped chilled water and gobbled canned fishes. Meanwhile, Vincent, the Newfoundland chap, he’d snag a comfy spot at the Fishy Bites. His appetite for fish and chips was insatiable, as if his belly were a bottomless sea, except fish-filled.

Vincent is, he’s a curious fellow you see. Dashes from The Pampered Pooch Salon, his fur still white soapy bubbles, to East Pug Palace. Indulges in all the squeaky toys they say he disliked in his human existence. My theory? Returning to the innocence that the humans somehow suppressed. More power to him, I say.

Now, let’s give the devil his due. Not everything about the bloke is mischief and wet noses. As strong as his love for fish is, his disdain for rain is stronger. Rains in Spencerville make him sulk. And cleaning his ears! He folds back those big wet eyes and gives you a stare that could wither any force that came his way.

But through thick and thin, through squirrels and crows, the only soul that could tame him is Princess Victoria, the St. Bernard, Vincent’s closest canine companion till the corned-beef stew runs out. Not that there ain’t any stew left, mind you. See, in Spencerville, after the world cracked, cupboards are always full. Quite a run from the ol’ times when Vincent played at wily burglaries, scattering pasta and flour across floors. And let me tell you something, Vincent, that rascal flour-freezer, transformed into an upstanding lad, using his intellect for the betterment of our society.

Despite everything, Spencerville pulls you in. Because, despite the flour-pillaging, despite the fish obsession, the couch-snoozing and absence of human footsteps, we dogs became our people. Remembered their laughter, their love and quirks, in our own dog ways. The dogs of Spencerville? We don’t just miss our people, we carry them with us and sit paws crossed anticipating our reunion.

Mother Nature threw us a bone, no doubt about that, but Vincent, Princess Victoria and I, we chewed on. Here’s to Spencerville, our tangible proof of courage and wit in a chewed-out world.

The End.