“Hey Mom, just lit a candle, recalling my Spencerville days with Momo, the star member of our four-pawed family. Miss his White Castle Slider binges and fearless adventures in the yard. Despite his timid moments with loud noises, his courage never fades. As my thoughts drift, I picture Momo holdin’ court at Spencerville for a sweet reunion. Stay tuned. Love, your resident “Derp”.”

Listen to the story here.

I lit a candle the other day, I suppose, summoned, as they say, by the memories of my days with Momo. It’s, in that almost perfect place, where dogs lead a human-like existence, nibbling pizzas at Pup-Tastic Pizza, deciding the latest designs at Canine Couture Clothing, while leisurely engaged in select readings at the Wagging Tail Bookstore, sharing and creating a myriad of “tails.”

They called it Spencerville, you know? Our pets’ equivalent of Eretz Yisrael, the promised land. Hey, you should hear about Momo’s dig-in in the backyard, talk about creating the next Great Wall of China.

But let me tell you Momo – we always said he was a bit off, a little endearingly “derp,” as those on the internet called it. I think he never got the memo about being a dog. No, not Momo. He thought he was one of us, belonging in our world; his love for White Castle Sliders would affirm the same.

“Oh, those sliders!” I echoed, a smile sketching on my face as I recalled Momo’s ears perking up at the very mention of it. It was a staple in our diet. Wasn’t too good for our waistlines, but then again, who’s checking?

The term ‘siblings’ was always loosely defined among the four-legged fraternity at our humbling abode. Momo, the Yorkie watchman, Noah and Maxie, those bumbling Bichons, and Zeus, the Yorkie; formidable only in weight, not in spirit, formed a doggie line that oozed brotherhood.

Despite the roguish, pickle toy antics, Momo had his quiet moments, quite unlike his siblings. I remembered times when he flinched at loud noises and clung to any familiar scent nearby. A bit timid, our little warrior, hiding behind us in moments of thunderstorms and alarming crackers. And yet, there was a beauty to it all. It piqued in you a sense of care, a need to hold him tight and reassure him of his safety.

The clock chimed six, and I found myself lost in the serenade of nostalgia. Spencerville, touted to be the enigmatic town for pets, waited for our reunion, with Momo already the heart of it. He was again at his favorite spot, I hoped, digging a hole, marks of majestic castles and intricate tunnels, in that backyard overlooking the Brown Boxer Beach.

Spencerville may have been a far cry from reality or perhaps just on the precipice of being real – Who knows? But in the whimsical tales of Momo’s escapades, it manifested itself into a solacing memory, I dare say, ours as much as it became Momo’s. So here I was, holding on to the flame, waiting patiently for when we tread on Spencerville’s shores and the sweet reunion with my quiet little warrior.

The End.