“Hey mom, Spencerville’s turnin’ out better than a steak dinner! Dances with Benjie, an admirer at Husky Hardware, and tails at night from Yappy Yogurt – livin’ the dream! Still shiver at swimmin’ but braved Beagle Beach. Missin’ ya and waitin’ for that purring car. Till then, just dancing everyday! Signed – your Super Lurcher, Ralphie.”

Listen to the story here

I’ve always likened my existence in Spencerville to an elaborate never-ending dance, a ballet of sorts with my pal Benjie, my siblings Graeme and Luna, and my squeaky companion, Moosey. The town, a semblance of perfection, spins cozily in companionship and leisurely sojourns.

Gov’ner of my facade in these parts, I reckon, this old greyhound frame hasn’t slowed me down one whit. Siberian Summit or Eastern White Westie Woods? Ask not. There’s fun to be had, places to explore and I’m the kind that rustles excitement out of the ordinary; an uncharted path or a whiff of adventure from the unlikeliest of places, and I’m your hound on the job.

S’pose I’d saunter down to the Dapper Dog Salon. I’d look at the mirror and say, “Ralphie, you spindle-legged, floppy-eared old dog. Ain’t you a sight?” I ain’t no narcissist but vanity feeds bravery, don’t ya think?

Speaking of bravery, whispers of it blow ‘round the Howling Husky Hardware Store when they see me. Yes, me! Gotta admit that I relish in it a little. Water-cooler chat ain’t saying nothing ‘bout Ralphie’s fear of the old cat at the Furry Friends Art Gallery.

Diurnal ventures are but half the fun. Our nightcaps at the Yappy Yogurt or Fur Tacos, listening to rambling tails of the day’s adventures… truly worth every byte. The camaraderie over the grub, a sight to sigh for.

Tales spun faster than you could say Furrific Fried Chicken. And dog, oh dog, did we have tales. Few would believe a greyhound that shivered at the sight of swimming pools could savour the sands of Beagle Beach, but I lived to tell the tale.

Oh, and my gastronomical fascinations. Meat, call it whatever, steak pork, or good ol’ sausages, a delight to my greyhound belly. Only heaps of lamb or carrots and broccoli, I’d pass. You see, a greyhound’s gotta have his tastes., Else what’s the point?

While memories glisten, waiting remains. As much as I enjoy every nook of Spencerville, I wait to hear that old car purring down the road. Her soft voice whispering “Come here Ralphie”. But till then, I am Ralphie- the beloved, the bravest, the greyhound of Spencerville. I reckon a syncopated rhythm of joy in the mundane, tackling adventures, no pool too deep, no vacuum cleaner too noisy. And if by chance, you pass me by, I’d just wink and tell ya’, “Welcome to the dance!”

The End.

Share This Story: