“Hey Ma, Pa, just made friends with a stylish fish-lover, V, at Bulldog Bay. Picture this: V and Princess V getting dolled up at the salon! LOL. But V prefers being a backyard recluse, rolling in the park. Caused some mischief with flour and pasta raids today, just for thrills. V really is Spencerville’s noir star! – Bear Cub”

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As the fog of sleep lifted, I found myself at the prime spot – Bulldog Bay. This ain’t no ordinary day in Spencerville. It’s a cold, grassy morning here, more white than black.

Strolling outside Ruff-n-Ready, I bumped into Mr. V, my imposing Newfoundland friend – A classy fella with a freckled face, his coat shiny like the finest patent-leather shoes. Now, V was more of a creature of his own tastes; had this weird fetish for pickles and absolutely the biggest fish aficionado you’d ever see.

As silent questions flowed through the fog of our thoughts, he pulled out that famous pickle toy of his, the highlight of many conversations whispered in corners of Spencerville. “Still got your dear mate, I see,” I said, smirking.

Our morning was cut short by Dapper Dog Salon’s call for its first customer. Daddy’s little angel, princess Victoria, was up for a grooming date. An image conjured in the back of my mind – Victoria, all dolled up, ready to grace the salon, and Vincent by her side, oozing charm.

But as we all know, V isn’t one for salons. Bless his heart, he preferred rolling in grassy parks and fleeing the sights and sounds of the beach. A real loner, that one. Then again, maybe he was just trying to escape those ear cleanings. The chill, the wind in his black and white hair, nothing could beat that for Vincent.

Oddly comforting, my conversations with Vincent felt like my favorite leather couch at home. Home is his preference too – his backyard, to be precise. A peaceful recluse, away from the less desired beaches, busy roads, and noisy farms.

Imagine this, our Newfoundland friend on a cool afternoon, sprawled out on his favorite couch. You know, the kind where only one side is squished, and it smells a little of dog shampoo and a hint of some unidentifiable stain. Right on the corner, you’d find bits of raided flour and pasta packets.

Sure, he chuckles at us in his own dog language for actually believing this was about hunger; all he wanted was a little mischief, a thrill, a reminder of how days panned out in the darker sides of Spencerville. Ah yes, our dear Vincent, the noir star of our quaint Spencervillian abode.

In retrospect, each day in Spencerville with Mr. V brought another verse to our timeless legend. A reservoir of love and quirks, Vincent, the freckled Newfoundland, was indeed the jewel of our town.

The End.