“Hey Mom, just another day in Spencerville. Ran around with Abby & Pebbles, snagged the best tennis ball, then treated myself to double vanilla scoop at Bone Appetit. Perks of being a dog. FYI still hate baths and not a fan of kids. Finding my way, one ball, bone and bath at a time. 🐾 – The Clodog”

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Banana peels and tennis balls, laid out like battle scars, welcomed me to Spencerville’s version of a lawn; Pete’s Pet Supplies to the right, and Westie Woods, not just a wood, a wood with a purpose, sprawling to the left. This was our home – mine and Chloe’s.

“Had a doozy, have we?” I queried, patting Chloe’s sleek black and white coat, sparkling like a diamond dusted haute couture gown in the morning sunlight.

Chloe, that ball bouncing, beef rib eating, brave and blossoming Boston Terrier, looked at me with those big, knowing eyes and responded with a bark that I swear was her version of a chuckle.

“You wouldn’t believe it!” Chloe said. Yes, in Spencerville, dogs talk. Communicating like humans without the overrated, often exhausting, human drama. It’s a talking dog’s world. “Abby and Pebbles were at it again, racing around Eastern White Westie Woods before rolling down Upper Collie Canyon. Oh, the tomfoolery they inspire in this place!”

We jaunted towards The Doggie Daycare, Chloe muzzle-shoving excitedly through the freshly baked batch of tennis balls. “Ahh, the rounder the better, the bouncier the best!” She proclaimed, her carnivorous delight barely contained as she whisked one away.

Our ventures in Spencerville usually ended at Bone Appetit, Chloe’s favorite haute cuisine. Flame-grilled beef ribs were her weakness, followed closely by vanilla ice cream, a delicacy she savored. “Just the one scoop, please,” she’d say, and then slyly wink at me. “Oh, go on then, make it two.”

Despite the amusement, there were the not-so-good days. The B word—bath. I would mention it casually, so as not to alarm her. But, ah, she was onto me, like a terrier on a tennis ball.

“I swear, I can smell fresh from here!” She had more disdain in her tiny paw than I ever mustered.

And don’t get her started on kids. Mention the word, and she’d flinch, as if a cat just strutted by. I never quite knew why, but it was part of her enigma, her allure, her independence.

That was Chloe. My exploring, meat-loving, bath-hating, child-wary, accident-prone loyal friend. She loved her toys, her friends, Spencerville and me.

This was her latest adventure, her attempt to improve, to refine her canine ways, and though quirky, she was doing pretty damn well. After all, she was just a dog trying to find her place in Spencerville, one ball, one bone, one bath at a time.

The End.