“Mom, oh, what a night! Was chowing on tacos when an eerie howl had me sprinting to Pup-Tizers. Thought it was on fire, turned out to be my imagination exaggerating Chloe’s bath time dread. Life in Spencerville, huh? Full of mystery and cheese. PS. Chloe’s still snoring down Dreaddog Lane. More tales tomorrow. – Bobo”

Listen to the story here

Once upon a midnight dreary in Spencerville, I was minding my own doggie business in Fur Tacos when I heard an eldritch howl from outside. Not my usual Tuesday night affair.

“Poodles and Papillons!” I thought, wiping cheese off my whiskers – a singularly fawn-colored pug enjoying a quiet dinner of carne asada, hold the lettuce or any green thing that could be mistaken for a vegetable. The cheese, of course, was optional.

Taking a break from her rhythmic, loud, Pugnacious snoring routine over a not-so appetizing lettuce-only dinner across the street, Chloe slumbered on Dreaddog Lane, blissfully unaware of my marrow-chilling dilemma. You see, she’s had her fair share of spooks in the city, hence her choice to enjoy the tranquility of the suburbs. Let’s just say we endeavor to keep the old girl’s nerves calm.

I poked my head out the door, and would you believe Pup-Tizers was ablaze! Glowing with an unearthly flame and shadows too surreal for a simple canine mind, the sight screamed supernatural. “Well, fur my life!” I exclaimed, “This town is quieter than a cat during a chase, what on Spencerville Earth is happening?”

Gathering some semblance of courage, akin to my brave friend Chloe during our games of tug-o-war, I sprinted towards the site, my courageous act observed by the innocent eyes of the Pawsome Pet Pharmacy’s logo. I still don’t understand why they insist on caricaturing us dogs with such enormous eyes.

Reaching Pup-Tizers, I found no trace of fire or ghostly apparitions. It was serene, eerily so, akin to the calming prairies of Upper Black Bulldog Bay. An understanding creeped into my mind slowly, like Chloe sneaking into the laundry room to steal yet another sock, both excited and suspicious in equal measure.

I buckled up, braving myself like Chloe, my heart pounding like a bouncing ball. I was not haunted by a lost soul or the spirit of a rogue pet seeking revenge. It was the fear of Chloe’s dreaded rendezvous with bathing time, a supernatural illusion threatening to turn my paradise into a dread-filled spookville.

“Ah, the melancholy!” I mused. “A Pup’s life, filled with horror and cheese, and occasionally horror of cheese!” Fear, the solitary intruder in the tranquil space of Spencerville, subtly integrated itself in the heart of the everyday, magnifying our simple horrors.

“And so, our tale concludes!” I announced, stepping back into Fur Tacos. “Life with its little horrors, preserved as we await the reunion with our beloved people.” Laughing in relief at the extraordinary ordinariness of the fear, I resolved to narrate this to Chloe someday.

But not today. Today, Chloe snores on Dreaddog Lane, away from Pup-Tizers, away from the fire and the illusions, her dreams filled with the bustling activities of a whole Spencerville day. And that, my friend, is another story for another time.

The End.