“Morning mayhem chasing Mike, then a feast, sans applesauce. Walk by Poodle Pond at sundown, delightful as always. Life in Spencerville… it’s a dog’s life, indeed! -Fasty”

Listen to the story here

Once upon a time in Spencerville, where canine chums sup cavalierly at The Bone Appetit and strut flauntingly in Canine Couture, there lived a bulldog, Russ. Wide-grinned with eyes twinkling with misconceived plots, he was a character your eyes would invariably stumble upon while sauntering around Spencerville. I always marveled at how this grinning bulldog with a groomed coat from The Pampered Pooch Salon would juggle his favorite plastic golf balls, cheerfully dismissing the lethargy his breed was stereotyped for.

Our tale begins on one of those mornings when the sun kisses the crests of the homes and wakes up the playful pets of Spencerville. Russ and his mate, Jim, were at their usual haunt, the local dog-park. Nestled between Maltese Meadow and Bullmastiff Boardwalk, this was their idea of Arcadia.

“Bah, what a bother,” Russ groused, his jovial eyes locked onto an approaching figure. It was Mike, the delivery person. A devil, in Russ’s simple world, dressed in the postman’s blues. His hackles immediately bristled, and his golf balls rumbled in protest. Mike was one of the few creatures Russ had no time for, and today was, to our great humor, no exception.

As Mike passed the park, he tossed a harmless greeting our way, “Morning, chaps.”

In response, Russ dashed forward in all bulldog bravado, sending Mike’s hat sailing. “Scram!” Russ seemed to say, his boisterous bark echoing through the park.

Usual scene, you see? Always a spectacle, this English bulldog, our English bulldog, in action. Spencerville was full of characters, but none as colorfully comical as Russ.

In the same breath, he sought solace under the enormous oak, cherishing the relief from the sun while elusively watching Mike hurry away. As Russ lay down, panting after his victorious tirade, it was time for our second spectacle – lunch, a meatball affair from Waggle n’ Wok.

“I hope to God, they haven’t done the unthinkable.” Russ muttered in my direction, eyeing his lunch suspiciously, “I tell you, Bob, if there’s applesauce in here…”

As I peeled back the container lid, his tail thumped the ground in approval – no apple sauce in sight. “One day, Bob,” he said through a mouthful of meatballs, “I’ll cook your meals.”

With the attenuating day, Russ and I walked alongside Poodle Pond, the setting sun painting his playful charm in a new light. His blithe spirit brought Spencerville to life in ways no words could emulate. My companion amongst companions, his tales were my reprieve, and his quirks were my joy, making our lives, though black and white, an endearing technicolor.

“And so,” Russ sighed with contentment as the last rays of the day faded, “Lives another day in Spencerville.”

The End.