“Hey Dad, trotting through Spencerville, chasing rubber ducks, and whiffing the heavenly aroma of Pup-Tizers. Did miss the comforting feel of your pat and the tranquillity in your voice though. This place is great but sure do miss ya. Patience isn’t my strong suit but I guess reunion needs a parting, right? Anyhoo, life’s good, eclectic, but bittersweet. Toodles. – Glossy.”

Listen to the story here

Sundown. Not that it matters much in Spencerville. The glimmer of the setting sun, casting long, low shadows over the avenues of Bulldog Bay and the expansive Fawn Cream Maltese Meadow, adds little to our narrative. See, ’round here, we have a timeless existence, soaking in the melange of scents, orchestrating grand adventures and waiting for our turn to gallop over the rainbow bridge.

Me, my glossy-black coat and an old tattered rubber duck – contraband from another life; genteel echoes of an existence that was always too good to be true. I’ll tell ya, I’ve chased plenty of balls, rambled along rivers, even pulled the odd prank on the Thompson’s cat. I’ve tasted luxury at The Doggy Bagel Deli and sought enlightenment in the leafy aisles of The Wagging Tail Bookstore. But for me? It’s always been about the river.

And it’s about the sausages – that rich, heady aroma wafting from the Pup-Tizers. My brethren gorge themselves on dog treats, practically salivating at the sound of the word. Not for this old hound, though. The sausages, they bring back memories. Funny the way scents spark those old neurons, isn’t it? ‘Course, here in Spencerville, bittersweet remembrance is our currency.

Sure, the human-like existence is nice, even quaint in its own way. No more leashes, no vet appointments – just endless playtime in East Pug Palace and thick novels at The Wagging Tail. But what, I wonder, of loyalty? What of companionship in those quiet, restful moments when the adventures of the day are but whispers on the wind?

But there is only so much that can be mulled over sausages and rubber ducks. The world moves, and we with it. The companionship, the memories, the adventures, they linger, just like the taste of sausages and the scent of an old lived-in home.

A world of no goodbyes – they told us it’s perfect. Yet grasping at the memory of a certain gentleness, a comforting hand on my fur or a kind word softly spoken… well, suppose it lends an edge of melancholy to so-called perfection. Ah, but then, you know how it is. It’s not like it’s forever.

Us dogs, you see, we find our own meaning. We are creatures of joy and loyalty, we understand that ‘forever’ ain’t a concept rooted in time, but one that’s found, remembered, and lived in the peace of Spencerville. Yes, the waiting is hard, but it is not for naught. As I’ve always believed, you cannot appreciate a reunion without first knowing parting. A bittersweet truth, wouldn’t you say?

The End.