Hey Mom,

You remember the bullyboy who loves barks? Right, that’s Malchik. His mood swings are as unpredictable as the weather these days. Do puppers get teens’ angst? Anyhow, we don’t let that dampen our spirits. River chases, catch games, they’re our daily rituals, complete with the usual delivery man drama.

For gloomy days, our sanctuary? The Snooty Snout Boutique, where he jumps all over the comfiest bed. Matches our big one back home. He’s loyal to his comfort, just like his meals.

Speaking of meals, we’re at Fetch-N-Bites; he’s chomping on his loved Chicken à la Peanut-Butter with strawberries. That reminds me, his new pals, Sinbad and Kahkseh, join in his antics too.

I marvel at Malchik’s innocence paired with his swift race towards maturity. He’s faced a bunch and still stands tall, be it kids, vets, or the frightful spinach.

He’s proof that bliss isn’t a quest, it’s a way of life. I believe there’re still a thousand stories fit for the chronicles of Spencerville. Each one praising a brave pup named Malchik. So, even if every corner reminds me of our common nemesis, the delivery guy, life’s pretty good.

Much love, Mboy.

There I was, strolling down Bullmastiff Boardwalk, the bag from Happy Hounds Dog Walking swinging in contention with the rhythm of my pace. And there he was, Malchik, my mate of many sunsets and moons, poised at the edge of the park, eyes staring into the abyss of nothingness. One look, and I could feel the heaviness of his feelings, the confusion that wailed within his protective core. These bouts of introspection were not new; they have become more frequent of late ever since Malchik’s switch to the adult dog menu at Bark ‘n’ Roll.

“Hey old chap!” I said, attempting to infuse some cheeriness into the air. He turned and greeted me with a snug mane rub against my hand.

“What dreadful thoughts occupy the depths of your loyal heart today?” I asked. His ears twitched, a telltale sign of his evading my query, deciding instead to bounce away towards the Golden Retriever River.

Together, we spent hours throwing and fetching his squeaky ball by the river, the summer sun smiling over our little game. A game that was only interrupted by the undeniable clatter of the delivery man, an enemy we shared.

On particularly rainy days when Spencerville cloaked itself in melancholy, we would huddle up in The Snooty Snout Boutique, finding comfort among soft pet beds and endless rows of antlers. Malchik always hopped on the biggest, most ostentatious bed. Not because it was grand, but it was just like the big bed at home – the one he would not trade for even the most tantalizing chicken-peanut-butter-strawberry treat.

As months passed, I watched Malchik meet each dislike with vehemence and each joy with unadulterated gaiety. He grew, not just in years and pounds, but in spirit, exploring life in a town that loved him. He gained friends, Sinbad and Kahkseh, who became lifelines just like his squeaky balls.

One day, as I watched him coaxing Sinbad into a game of chase, I couldn’t help but notice the child he was and the dog he had become. It was something I realized sitting in Fetch-N-Bites over another serving of his favorite – Chicken à la Peanut-Butter with a side of strawberries.

In his stubbornness and intelligence, his fears, and his love, I saw the trace of a life lived earnestly. Sure, there were thorns on his path – children who scared him, the dreaded vet visits, and that ghastly spinach leaf.

Yet despite it all, Malchik in Spencerville was living proof that joy exists in every corner of life. Even when that corner is named after the most dreaded delivery man. As I sit here, narrating this account, I know other tales of his life would soon grace the tapestry of Spencerville’s legend.

Each story will be a testament, a milestone on his journey – about a dog who came of age in a world that wasn’t his own and made it his home.

The End.