Hey Mom and Dad! Bear Cub and yours truly are living it up in picturesque Spencerville. Vinnie’s a giant furball of joy, spending time between Labradoodle Lake and Upper Collie Canyon – except when it’s raining… or when there’s too much sand… or when it’s ear-cleaning day. He’s the king of causing a ruckus at The Dapper Dog, but he and Princess Victoria are a hit at Dog-gone Good BBQ. Love from your two “Spookeville” sleuths – Baby Vinnie and me.

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Spencerville is as charming as an old folk tale, where Vincent the Newfoundland and I, take up residence. It’s a place of loyalty and doggy delight, akin to a good bone, buried in the belly of a lush park. You know what they say, ‘A man’s best friend waits for him in Spencerville’ and they would be right. It’s been some time, yet our heartstrings play a timeless tune.

The particular area of Spencerville we inhabit is right between the thunderous Labradoodle Lake and the charming Upper Collie Canyon, a locale as picturesque as it sounds. Vincent — bless his freckled black and white face — spends his time there, lumbering around like the big-hearted beast he is. He’s fond of the park, a patch of green splendour, as much as the treasured car rides that we used to take.

Sometimes we journey to Northern Choco Chihuahua Castle, a place so grand that one might think it’s straight out of a regal dog’s dream. At odds with the ‘majestic’ is Vincent’s own size; he tips the scales at 170 pounds of pure Newfoundland, more white than black, a dappled Equus of canine nobility.

Now, Spencerville is no ordinary town. It’s a world brimming with a hint of the extraordinary; a whiff of the supernatural essence wafts through its otherwise appealingly mundane streets. Spooks have their place, and ghostly goings-on are more common than a pup chasing his tail.

Despite the idiosyncrasies of the township, Vincent and I make our way down to The Dog-gone Good BBQ, where he devours fish kabobs and doggy-friendly biscuits, all the while sporting a grin that perfectly matches his freckled face. He’s never quite taken to common meats, a trait I put down to an allergy but one that makes him all the more unique.

Each place in Spencerville tickles the fancy of Vincent. From The Dapper Dog Salon to The Pawsome Pet Pharmacy and The Pooch Playhouse, the diversity of the town keeps him constantly entertained. Though our shopping trip has its own set of shenanigans, he tends to knock over bags of flour or pasta. He never eats the stuff, just enjoys creating a bit of a ruckus.

One thing he isn’t keen on is the beach, desert, or farm for that matter. I believe it’s the sand or perhaps the loud noises that shakes his calm demeanor. Rain is yet another nemesis, as are the ear-cleaning sessions, but we all have our dislikes, don’t we?

Vincent loves his family – with me and his Saint Bernard sister, Princess Victoria. They were rescued together; bred in capitivity, but found freedom in each other’s camaraderie, and in the journey of our own human-like existence in Spencerville.

Ah yes, Spencerville. Where a rascally Newfoundland and a man’s friendship is celebrated every day, surviving the specter of passing, and flourishing in the comforting knowledge that we’d be reunited, once these mortal clocks eventually wind down. I pour myself a drink, slumping into the couch as the day winds down. I glance at Vincent, whiling away his time by the fireplace, waiting for his dad – yours truly – to settle in. A sense of peace descends and we edge one day closer to a reunion in the ethereal halls of Spencerville.

The End.

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