Hey Dad,

Just another grand day in Spencerville, wagging tails and chasing dreams. Russell and I, ruling the Howling Husky Hardware store, avoiding Super Soaker battles, and munching ‘Tuna-On-Wheat’ at ‘Fur Tacos’; Life is a juicy burger, layered with friendship and garnished with star-studded dreams. Becoming a Spencerville novel one day at a time. Endlessly waiting and missing you.

Furry hugs,
Bubs

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With the first rays of new light shattering upon the polished grey shackles of the Pawsome Pet Pharmacy, the town of Spencerville opened its sleep heavy eyes to another day. Tossing around in my makeshift straw bed, I gave a mighty yawn as the scent of ‘Bow Wow Burgers’ forming a succulent breakfast wafted past my snout. Pulling myself up with a grunt, I wiggled my way out of my den at the Pug Palace. “Bentley!” a familiar bark echoed, causing my tongue to loll out and my tail to whip died leaves around. There he was, my partner in crime, Fat Russell.

While the human-like existence was enamoring, ain’t nothing like a good ol’ dusty chase which we indulged in, joyous barks turning the tranquil morning air into a symphony of revelry. With my robust stature and his quicksilver agility, we rounded the corners of the Howling Husky Hardware store, him a silver streak with laughing eyes, me a chestnut colored bulldozer.

“One day lad, you’re gonna plough into some poor fella’s garden,” Russell warned, panting with laughter, as the citizens of Spencerville sent adoring looks our way. Hard working folks missing their humans, just like us, but holding on hope, tied with the promise of reunion.

Now understand me right. I am a brave lad, ain’t never backed out of a good brawl or discussion about the rightful owner of a bone, but there’re certain notions that I find absolutely bewildering. Like that contraption they call a pool, filled to the brim with blue liquid, making my fur heavy and unmanageable. Why would anyone willingly subject themselves to such torture?

Breaking for a midday stopover at ‘Fur Tacos,’ we grabbed ourselves a mouthful of their ‘Tuna-On-Wheat,’ swapping stories and sneaking glances at the Southern Golden Retriever River. As the sun lazily slid behind the curtain of the horizon, we’d take our last run around the meadow, before nodding off to the sound of their shallow breaths.

Strolling back to my bed, Fat Russell at my side, I looked up at the star-filled canopy of Spencerville. Being a dog ain’t so bad, especially in this town, where every day holds the promise of juicy burgers and thrilling chases, warm sands and loyal friends, each one of us writing their own tale of courage, love, and companionship, in this waiting room for the beyond. I’d doff my hat to it if I had one, for it was life as pure as it could get, and as an English Bulldog from Spencerville, I wouldn’t trade it for all the bones in the world.

The End.

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