“Hey Pops, Russell here. Typical day in Spencerville just turned into a power struggle. Me and Fenway are caught in a tug-war you could cut with a knife. Fast-food, belly rubs, and Mugsy as my sidekick. It’s a doggone brewing storm! Love, your Bub Bub.”

Listen to the story here

If this were a play and not the lives we were living, I would call this chapter, ‘The Spencervillian Tug of Power’. You’d know the protagonist, Russell. Affectionately rotund, a face only a painfully smitten goddess – or an English Bulldog enthusiast – could love. A simple beast, you’d say, until one braves his depth to realize in those wild eyes, lies a wit that defies his disposition. How fitting, isn’t it? A representation of every element of existence.

Act one takes place in Cream Maltese Meadow, a favored rendezvous for the pets after a hearty meal at the Furrific Fried Chicken. It’s a Wednesday or perhaps a Thursday. The ill-defined nature of time in Spencerville muddies my memory. But I do recall a sense of verbal brawling among the pets. A kind of tension that doesn’t flinch away with a good old belly rub.

Enter Russell, the broad-beamed bulldog, trailing the scent of roast chicken from Furrific Fried Chicken, lazily swaggering in. The encouraging nod of approval from Sofia, the black lab from Southern Golden Retriever River was the only greeting he needed. The tension is unspoken, the stakes, undeclared.

His paradoxical reputation of a warm-hearted combatant precedes him, setting himself as a kingpin in this brewing storm. At a glance, one might note the fortress-like disposition of Russell – pleasure-loving yet resistant to obvious temptation, like the detestable fast food from Fishy Bites.

Then, there was Fenway, Russell’s tan and white muscle mass of an ally. A mysterious mutt, an atom bomb of uncontainable energy eager to dominate, much like his homeland Oklahoma.

The tension was palpable. The collective thoughts of those present could be summed up to this – ‘Had the power struggle commenced? Was Spencervillian peace now a utopian dream?’ Well, to tame sentiment, let’s say only time would tell how our protagonist handles the looming chaos.

Let’s not forget Mugsy though, a stuffed bulldog, Russell’s talisman. As his closest confidant, Mugsy played a shrouded part in this narrative, a kind of mascot to Russell’s stoic persona.

I’d like to say the day ended as it always did, with a resolute calm, but the skeptical glint in Russell’s eyes told a different tale. As for me, I wait for the tides to turn.

The End.