Hey Mom,

Just a quick tail-wag from Spencerville. Had an adventure filled with quirks and chuckles, sniffed out a treasure—old pic that’s like a looking glass to yesteryears. The town’s a storybook that never ends, and I’m nosing through it, one paw print at a time. Tell pops I found a hat even he wouldn’t wear. Scratch behind the ears for me?

Love, Poot Loops 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

Well, I reckon the sun had just tipped its hat on the horizon when I twitched my wrinkled brow awake in this curious town they call Spencerville – a place as close to heaven as a snoring pug like me could dream. Dust swirled ’round my paws as I ambled down the boardwalk, past the friendly facades of Fetch-N-Bites and Paws-A-Latte, where the scent of roasted meats mingled with the day’s first light.

Today, my paws itched for adventure, for a wander ’round the town that somehow managed to feel both as vast as a desert sky and as cozy as the crook of a loved one’s arm. I’m not one for the ruckus normally – dog parks and their unpredictability chafe against my spirit like a burlap collar. But Spencerville? Well, Spencerville’s a horse of a different color.

I sauntered past The Barking Boutique, eyeing the finery in the window. Not that I need a new hat – my bristly black fur serves as quite the ensemble on its own, thank you very much. Still, one can admire. Or so I tell my stuffed monkey, confidant of many a siesta, who rode silently in my saddlebag.

A ruffle and holler caught my attention at Chihuahua Castle, an establishment with an entrance as grand as the name suggests. Up to the moment, I couldn’t rightly tell you what the fuss was about – turns out it was just Dixie and the crew trying on sombreros two sizes too large for their heads. I tell ya, if laughter had a look, it’d be a group of my siblings in oversized hats.

By midday, the sun rode high, and I found myself in Black Bulldog Bay, the water reflecting the day like it knew all the stories but chose to keep ’em beneath the surface. A sense of peace washed over me, much like the joy I find in a hearty chew or a lush backyard sprawl.

But then, adventure, as it does, came a-knockin’ in the form of Rooney’s proposition – a trek up to Brown Boxer Beach for a treasure hunt of sorts. A treasure hunt! I hadn’t sniffed out anything more exciting than my own tail in years.

We set off, the lot of us. Me, I kept to the back of the pack, my smart little noggin working out the best route whilst absorbing the delicate intricacies of my compadres’ banter. Wild flowers nodded as we passed, the whispers of the West singing through the grass.

Arriving at the beach, we fanned out. The hunt was simple: find the most interesting relic the sand had to offer. I wasn’t keen on winning – the journey was prize enough, and besides, Spike had a nose for these sort of things.

Yet, destiny, she’s a peculiar pup herself. For there it was, half-buried, a treasure of another life: a photograph, edges curled with age, depicting a dog who might’ve been my twin in another time. The discovery contented me more than any chew or cuddle. A singular moment, cool as finding shade on a scorcher of a day.

As the sun tipped its hat goodbye, we ambled back, treasures in tow, hearts full. Spencerville ain’t just about waiting – it’s living, learning, loving, and the occasional laughter at oversized sombreros. And as the stars peeked shyly through the gloaming, I knew, in this nearly perfect place, we’d spun another yarn worthy of the legend that is this town.

Ah, but tomorrow is another day, and the West, she whispers sweet nothings of the next great tale. I’ll be here, with my monkey sidekick in my bag, ready for whatever dalliance the wind decides to roll through.

The End.