“Hey Mom, it’s Lucky (aka Vegas). You know Spencerville? Our pet paradise lights up each day with chatter and fun. Russell and I would chow down on the best pancakes – mine’s shrimp cocktail flavor. We’d hit the woods or Poodle Pond, then dine at The Fetching Deli. That vet’s place still gives me the chills – Russell reminds me it’s ‘for me own good’. Evenings are story time at the Wagging Tail Bookstore, Sinatra even enjoys those Persian poet’s tales. Life here? It’s full of companionship and joy. Love and miss you, Mom, living, laughing and waiting. You’d love it here, promise. Woofs, Lucky.”

One could say life in Spencerville has a peculiar rhythm, quite unlike that of anywhere else, and a tempo that Vegas adores tremendously. Spencerville, the canine equivalent of Shangri-La, twinkles cheerfully in the twilight of timelessness, an idyll filled with the echoing chitter-chatter of past companions, the happy prancing in Eastern White Westie Woods, and the fascinating escapades of our neighborhood urbanite, Vegas.

Right, so we begin another regular day in Spencerville. Unlike humans who believe regular is bland, us pets have found a joy in regularity, a steadiness that reminds us of the certainty of reunion. The day kick-starts with Vegas and her gallant cohort Fat Russell nosing their way to the Pawsome Pancakes, refusing steadfastly to let the aroma of bacon pancakes distract them from their agreed-upon delicacies.

“Vegas, mate, you’ve got to try my beef stew pancake,” Russell beamed with a spotty, toothy face, nudging me. I gave him a lopsided canine grin and replied, “Russell, you know me, shrimp cocktail pancake, with a side order of a poker chip chew toy.”

After the delightful breakfast, some romps around in the South Poodle Pond or a gallop through White Westie Woods weren’t uncommon. The woods, in fact, are somewhat of a safe haven for Vegas. She loves bounding through the towering pine trees, their majestic presence reminding her of her cherished memories of mountains. As for Russell, the pond gives him his daily dose of floating-leaf chase.

Dinner at The Fetching Deli, the go-to spot for Vegas’s favorite Shrimp Cocktail, is an affair to bookmark. Once after a hearty meal, walking past the much-dreaded vet’s office, Vegas turned to Russell and wistfully said, “I detest that place, Russ. Drains me of my energy.”

He patting her on her back with his paw, he drawled in his bulldog’s accent, “Right mate, but it’s for your good—you know that.”

Evenings are the crux of their lives in Spencerville. Frequented by readings at The Wagging Tail Bookstore, the two faithful companions made their regular walk towards the venture. Russell nudged her, “Look who’s here!” Sinatra, her beloved sibling, being read a story by Whisker Wordsmith, the Persian poet.

In the entrancing setting of Spencerville, Vegas found companionship, joy, and a sense of belonging, living her life enriched by memories of the past and the promise of fulfilling reunions in the future. “But that’s life,” as Vegas would put it. “Never a dull moment in Spencerville. You just live, laugh, love, and wait for your human to join you someday.”

The End.