Hey Ma, it’s your friendly neighborhood Watson, Wrigley Roo, checking in. I’m living quite the tale here in Spencerville – playing detective over some mysteriously aligned ducks, tracking down peanut butter thieves, and crossing paw-ths with femme fatales at Snooty Snout Boutique. Quiet moments? No chance. But don’t worry, I’m saving enough yarns for our cuddle sessions when I return. Now, send my regards to the green beans; they’re not missed! Love, Wriggles.

Listen to the story here

Languishing under my grand tree in fair old Spencerville, the rustling whispers of the leaves above stir a tickle of daydream – a peculiar happenstance, a yea-sayer to Wrigley’s Theory of the Odd. You see, I’ve found myself, Wrigley, your huggable two-tone charmer with a penchant for the inexplicable, a conspirator, nay, investigator of the peculiar. Oh, the tales I could wag to you!

One tale that stands out in particular paints a vivid image of idyllic Upper Black Bulldog Bay. A balmy day charmed by canine laughter and ripe with fetch games. Out of the corner of my expressive, watchful eyes – an aquatic anachronism! Ducks, ducks I say, looking suspiciously like my beloved squeaky Kong, floating in peculiar formation. The sight of this gave off pings in Wrigley’s sophisticated noggin; now isn’t that a spot of oddity!

Even as I chewed over the duck debacle, another incident at Pet Partners Pet Supplies had all paws on deck. You see, a notorious thief of peanut butter treats, still at large! I, Wrigley, sharp-witted canine-cum-amateur sleuth, put my snout to the grindstone, cataloging riddles and poop scoop gossip, sniffing out the tracks of our dietary delinquent.

And sniff so I did, carried along by the scent of peanut butter, amongst stolen glances from the ladies of Snooty Snout Boutique and murmurs of conspiracy down at Doggy Delight. Oh, that chase! As exhilarating as a joyride in a human’s car, as enticing as the leftover pizza they forget – momentarily of course, on the kitchen counter.

In truth, Spencerville rarely sees quiet, save for perhaps during thunderstorms. Those intrusions, with their blaring brass and stinging rain, send the lot of us – from Chenice, the forever skeptical spaniel and our very own Scully, to the youngest, Leia, into an unsurprising Birnam Wood of Shepherd Skyline – not out of fear, mind you, but rather to observe the peculiar phantoms that tend to accompany these tempests.

Oh, and should you think these escapades have me knackered, you’d be much mistaken. Dull moments are for street walks on rainy days, not for a lively mutt on the scent of mystery. Bathing in the soothing sunbeams under the tree or lounging by the embers of the fireplace, my mind whirls with mysteries solved, waiting to surprise anyone daring enough to underestimate Wrigley.

Such is life in Spencerville, a near idyllic existence that masks a perpetual theatre of delightful weirdness. For while we may miss our chosen humans in this sublime sojourn, we shan’t be bored. When the time comes for that joyous reunion, there’ll be enough tales for endless tummy rub sessions. That, I wag to you earnestly, is the ‘tail’ of Wrigley’s Spencerville.

And between you and me, did Hyde, the old rescue dog from Boxer Beach, really see a flying saucer over Tail Waggers? Ah, perhaps a tale for another time, dear friend. For now, a brown and white welcome and, if you chance upon any green beans, I’m afraid it’s a no thank you from me. G’night.

The End.

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