“Hey Dad, Stellie’s embracing her inner sunflower, gnawing on her Blues bone. Couldn’t resist the Furrific hamburger, ignored the salad (again). Passed Beagle Beach, heading to South Siberian. Grumbled at Doggy Depot (ear-cleaning trauma!). Saw a poker-playing chicken. Checked into furry motel party hotspot, Stella’s snores telling me it’s lights out. Finding weird, wonderful routes home, just as wanderers should! Love, your wandering duo, Stella & Me.”

Listen to the story here

As the Spencerville sun dawned, I glanced over at Stella, her charming brindle coat soaking up those first rays like a vintage sunflower in full bloom. She was lost deep in her morning nap, jaws wrapped around that St. Louis Blues stuffed bone – her prized possession that traveled all places with us. Knowing our journey was long, I decided not to disturb her royal laziness.

Loaded up our gear in the old Chevy, oh and those crunchy damn salads Stella wouldn’t touch if it was the last meal on earth. Made a quick pit stop at Furrific Fried Chicken; the bulldog couldn’t resist a good old hamburger. Comfort food, I say. Nothing starts a road trip better than a belly full of sinful delights.

Hitting the road, we passed Red Beagle Beach – its sand, an orange blaze, shimmering under the Spencerville sun. As we tread the path leading to South Siberian Summit, Stella’s head stuck out of the window, basking in the breeze hitting her square in the face – a living photo that could shake the boots off any National Geographic magazine.

“Still your nemesis, Eh?” I pointed to the Doggy Depot where we often stopped for those dreaded ear-cleanings. Stella responded with a low growl as if I’d personally wronged her. Sometimes, I think she took her dramas too seriously, those narratives played out day in, day out in her determined bulldog head.

Her spirit seemed unshaken by our journey, as we encountered strange sightings like a Chicken playing poker at K9 Kebabs, while a Husky tried to sell screws and nails at the Howling Husky Hardware Store. Nonetheless, there was something about these oddities that made me feel right, feel at home. Some damned weird sanctuary for Stella and me.

As the dusk fell, we paused at a no-name motel for the night, hosting a late-night party of the furred kind. It was an endearing sight, Pugs and Bulldogs, living with some vague intuitive sense of balance.

Our story is laden with all the aberrations and dalliances of a trip through a place of joy, calm, and outright freedom, defined by cryptic happenings only understood by those embarked on such a journey. Through the companionship, ear-cleaning dramas, and absurd place names, we made sure to stop for cuddles, naps, and old rock records, Stella and I, carrying on with our mutual love against the backdrop of this wacky journey – a tale for the ages. Stella snores were the last thing I’d hear before the night fell into deep, soothing silence. Until tomorrow, until the road again beckoned.

Our life held the perfect recount of the age-old saying – “Not all those who wander are lost.” Our wandering only led us to be found. Each other. Stella and Me.

The End.