Hey hooman,

Just a quick pupdate—I’ve been sniffing out the heart of Spencerville, where the streets are paved with treats and my tail’s a-wagging in eternity. Met up with the fur squad at sunset, shared laughs and unearthly adventures. I’ve even upgraded to a supernatural sniffer! Missing you, and waiting for the day you’ll join this endless playdate. Tail wags and face licks till then! 🐾

Wags,
Copper

Listen to the story here

I had always thought that chasing my tail was the equivalent of seeking life’s deepest mysteries, which is to say, exercise in futility adorned with occasional bouts of dizziness. But here I am, in Spencerville, the grand nepenthean nook where no pet is an island, except maybe at Brown Boxer Beach where one can indulge in a bit of delightful solitude by the sea—solitude, I might add, that’s purely voluntary.

You see, I’ve never been the “lone wolf” type. I mean, fundamentally, I am a Basset Hound, not a wolf, so there’s that. But it’s the principle of the thing. Alone, I’m more out of place than a cat at a dog’s birthday party—or any social gathering, really. Anyway, Spencerville is our sort of paradise, a place of eternal chew toys and joyous barking without the repercussions of a rainy day or, heaven forbid, a bath.

It was a typical sunny-dappled afternoon when I found myself strolling down the avenues of this bustling petropolis, my paws padding contently on the cobblestone. My belly was pleasantly stuffed with hard-boiled eggs from The Barkery, a quaint little eatery that caters to even the most eclectic of canine palettes.

Let me tell you, the taste of those eggs was a distant echo of a memory I cherished, a symphony in yellow and white that once made my tail wag faster than a nervous squirrel. And though I had barely managed to avoid rounding off my figure, what’s a touch more corpulence in the grand scheme?

With my trusty three-foot alligator toy, which here squeaked with an otherworldly gusto, firmly clamped in my jaws, I ambled toward Poodle Pond. The alligator, an odd companion to bring to the water, one might argue. But we, the residents here, are no strangers to the supernatural of our new existence. I had my reservations about swimming, but a pond named for one of the most hair-sprayed breeds I’ve known can’t be all that deep, now can it?

Here’s where things became, shall we say, eerie. Though the supernatural phenomena is standard fare around these spectral environs, I’d found that my sense of smell was heightened beyond that of my earthly capabilities. It turned every scent into a story, a phantasma of a narrative that tickled my snout and spoke to my soul.

While musing on my newly-acquired olfactory prowess, I caught wafts of beings unseen, sharing my path and whispering secrets of otherworldly wisdom. Their murmurs wove into the tapestry of my consciousness tales of love, loss, and the delight of an afterlife spent bounding through Pug Palace and engaging in profound discussions of the soul at Yappy Yogurt.

An ethereal squirrel sped past, and for a moment, my primordial instincts almost had me give chase, but a deeper understanding stayed my paws. We were both shadows in this surreal domain, equals in this never-ending jubilee.

And as the radiant orb in the sky prepared to retire, painting the sky with hues that would make a rainbow envious, I rendezvoused with my spectral lifemates. Smiley, Hunter, Harry, and even Little Man, the orange tabby, were already waiting, sharing their own adventures in whispered fervor.

“You wouldn’t believe the size of the milk saucers in this place,” Little Man mused between licks of paw.

I could believe it, because Spencerville was everything we had ever dreamed of, and then some—including the endless supply of my squeaky alligator toys.

As we settled, sharing stories and spectator to the stars that twinkled mischievously above—stars I swear that bark and meow, if you listen closely—I knew that this was where the end of the leash led, where adventures weren’t curtained by the finite. And one day, into this nearly perfect tableau, our beloved humans will step. Until then, we revel, we reminisce, and we never really say goodbye. Such is the life, or rather, the afterlife, of this Tri Color Basset Hound.

The End.