“Hey, remember that time when I, Bubba, saved Spencerville? That snooty poodle Rupert tried to trash my beloved ball and I showed him who’s boss! Took him, of all places, to an Orange Fest. Everyone had a blast! Ah, good times… lol waggies and bark. – Stinky Ass 🐾”

Listen to the story here

Every town has a tale, and Spencerville, boy, Spencerville has got a tank of a story. I remember the first time I laid my eyes on that old grizzled face of his, that heart-shaped marking distinguishing him from the litter, like a badge of unbridled valor.

As Tank came of age, pulling off trick after impossible trick like clearing that 8 ft fence in one bounding leap, he’d grown popular in Spencerville. Folks from Lower Golden Gate Gardens to South Siberian Summit would often share stories, sipping beer at the Dog-gone Good BBQ, about Tank and his lovable antics. The old rubber ball he’d gnash at for hours on end – or how he’d wag up a storm at the sight of an apple – were the stuff of legends.

I recollect the hidden treasures we’d discover at Pet Partners Pet Supplies, it was the one and only place Tank allowed himself a handful of oddball obsessions. Now I don’t know if there’s anything to the rumors of a Bulldogs predilection for beer, but Tank would get all misty-eyed every time a bottle popped.

Yet, for all the beer and brouhaha, the one thing Tank could never stomach, was oranges. He’d turn tail and vanish the instant he’d catch a whiff of their aroma, the gruff old dog suddenly as meek as a newborn pup.

Everyone loved Tank, there’s no denying it, but the one he adored above all was Lulu. Lulu, who’d offer him those rides home from The Canine cafe, often detouring through Eastern White Westie Woods just so they could share one more beer together.

Tank wasn’t the only celebrity in those parts. There was Dave, that Dalmatian who never seemed to tire of hopping around. And there was Max, the beagle who always appeared to be in a constant state of laid-back ebullience. The three of them made quite the motley crew. You know, now that I think about it, the story of Tank is more than just a story about a dog. It’s a story about Spencerville, about the folks that make it home and the critters that make it special.

Then there was that fateful day when the peaceful tranquility of Spencerville was disrupted. Rupert, a newcomer to town, a snooty Poodle who had little respect for our traditions, dared to desecrate Tank’s favorite rubber toy. The audacity!

That rubber ball, speckled with bite marks and smeared with Tank’s love and adoration was more than just a toy. It was a part of our town’s history, of Tank’s legacy. And we wouldn’t stand for Rupert’s insolence. I rallied with Tank, his firm resolve reflected in his ominous grizzled face.

Our retaliation was pure, unadulterated Spencerville, as we planned to throw Rupert the biggest, citrussy Orange festival this town has ever seen. Yes, even in our revenge, we still remembered to have a little fun.

That, my friend, is the beauty of Spencerville. In the face of conflict, we always find a way to love, to laugh and to retaliate in the most unconventional of ways.

The End.