“Hey Pops, caught tough game of Frisbee today; whipped Rocky & Caesar good – they still think they got me figured out. Had my usual pizza and popcorn treat – they just can’t refuse this charming face. But hey, got a little restless, off to explore. This husky heart needs to roam. Hold down the fort till I’m back, yeah? – Brute”

Listen to the story here.

The whoosh of a Frisbee above my head abruptly shook me from my peaceful slumber. I squinted against the harsh Spencerville sunlight, the Siberian Summit standing tall and proud in the distance. That’s one of the beauties of this place – the landscapes never fail to awe. It was Brutus, of course, my bulldog buddy, the daredevil diving for the flying disk.

“Dammit, Brutus!” I grumbled. Not that cussing meant a thing to him. Brutus, with all his affectionate rowdiness, was the madcap bulldog who ran this town. Raised the standard at the dog park, he did. Dogs across the region bowed in respect. Cat’s avoided his path due to his notorious reputation.

Oh, his gruff exterior was exposure enough. But there was something else, something deeply burrowed beneath his burly brindle coat – a sheer aversion to loneliness. “Rocky, Caesar,” I called, “Brutus thinks he can pass the Frisbee forever! Your move, pups!”

Rocky and Caesar leaped into play mode, and together they rushed Brutus, engaged in a fierce yet friendly tug of war, their growls muffled by the disk clenched between their shared clenched jaws. Brutus, grunted, his neck bulging in the attempt to tug them both towards him. But he was enjoying this, oh aye, so was the rest of Spencerville, putting down their versions of doggy sticks to watch the spectacle.

Brutus wasn’t particularly fond of every spot in town, mind you. Suggest a trek in the desert, and he’d turn up his nose as if you’d dared to insult him. Not a desert dog, our Brutus. Instead, he preferred the Eastern White Westie Woods for his strolls, probably reminding him of our back garden, where he loved to sprawl under the sun, gnawing on his rawhide bones.

Now, I’ve always maintained, no dog rules without exercising some diplomacy. Brutus ruled not by fear but by charm and courage. At Pupperoni Pizza, he’d sit by, patiently awaiting his slice of pizza as if he was entitled to human privileges. He had them all smitten, so they’d happily hand over his pizza along with a handful of popcorn – his favourite treat.

Brutus might’ve looked intimidating, might’ve been a tad stubborn, but he embodied a spirit of loyalty and affection that was uniquely his. In the Spencerville ensemble of furry friends, he was an unparalleled leader, an unforgettable companion, and dare I say, a king amongst doggies!

Yet there was this night when his boisterous energy waned, the light in his eyes dimmed. I can’t forget the sight of him, wistfully observing the moon, a faraway, icy thought simmering in those brown orbs. The next morning he was gone, probably exploring some distant peak, his spirit alive in every corner of this enigmatic town. I know we will meet again, when the time is right, till then, his legend continues to thrive in Spencerville.

The End.