“Hey moms and pops, all’s well here in sunny Spencerville. Had a rip-roaring day full of cheese heists and bulldog struts. There’s always lots of fun, shenanigans, and of course – tasty cheese! We’re not just dogs here, we’re family, helping each other wait for the eternal reunion we all look forward to. Keep on keepin’ on. Love, J-Dawg.”

Listen to the story here.

It was the kind of fine Spencerville morning that screamed for cheese and shenanigans – an ingredient of a perfect day in my jovial, brindle and white life. I am Jethro and my vivacity was magnetic like the lure of a new Jolly ball. “Bring it on, day,” I muttered beneath my freckled ear, “I am ready to taste your delicious chaos!”

That southern wind against my bulldog’s face while cruising on Bullmastiff Boardwalk, was my own Spencerville-ian opera. The sweet songs of camaraderie echoed through the town – a limerick of anticipation, thrill, and playful deceit. The place, where we, the furry souls, prepared for a fabled reunion with those we missed. A paradise for us, and a psychological tail-spinner for those who longed for us.

Down at The Bone Appetit, Fat Russell and Spencer huddled in a corner. The whiff of trickery mixed with a delightful cheese aroma filled the air. Their low murmurs, drowned by the clatter of plates, were a medley of mischief and machinations.

“What’s cooking, fellas?” I asked, strutting forward. My strut, a beacon of confidence that could make any bulldog envious, belied the storm of curiosity raging within me.

“Just planning a little cheese heist,” Spencer revealed, his sly smirk as tantalizing as the leftover ribs in the human world. It was a game. A prerogative of the intellectually superior to unravel the series of deceptive clues, to trace the breadcrumbs back to the cheese hoard. The thrill of the chase was metaphorical, of course. Metaphorical but so very, very real.

“Sounds interesting,” I said with a crooked smile, “Count me in.”

My relationships in Spencerville are peculiar. A dog like me, who cringes at solitary confinement, craves companions. But in this secure neighborhood of the otherworldly, my companions and I, we basked in carefree fun, but a fun that contained its own deceptions.

Manipulation had a tang of its own. Swift race to The Furry Friends Art Gallery, or a friendly deception over a game of hide and seek in Lower Golden Gate Gardens, were all psychological thrillers that we concocted to overcome our longing for our beloved human parents.

We were just dogs in Spencerville – but we were a family. A family that loved, laughed, fooled and healed together in the wait of an eternal reunion. And as the sun set over the Golden Gate Gardens that evening, we, the dogs of Spencerville, knew that another day of cunning games and cheerful mayhem was yet to follow. And ‘follow’ we did – ‘follow’ was our mantra, Perseverance our anthem, and love – yes, love – our truth.

The End.