Hey Mom,

Just checking in from Spencerville, where I’ve been the keen-eyed observer and stoic philosopher amongst the canine circus. More loafing than fetching, I’ve been cuddling with stuffed confidants and waiting for that day we reunite. Spencerville’s no ordinary spot – it’s where my tail wags write the chapters. Missing you and the backyard gang. Give my love to Dixie and the crew.

Hugs and tail wags,
Poot Loops 🐾

Listen to the story here

In the ever-unfolding streets of Spencerville, punctuated by the whimsical aroma from The Fetching Deli, there’s me, Poot, soaking in the ordinariness of this not-quite-ordinary life. Waking up in Spencerville isn’t like waking up anywhere else. Here, the sun rises with a knowing wink, as if to say, “Come on, what’s your story today?”

So, here’s my yarn, woven with the threads of magical mundanity, a never-ending buffet of moments where meat reigns supreme and peanut butter is a distant bad dream. I’d tell you about the little indignations of doghood; ear cleanings and baths – shudder at the thought – but here, it’s my backyard haven that calls.

My personal Eden where the wind doesn’t blow too loud, and the South Siberian Summit, in the distance, seems to curl around me like one of my beloved plush toys. Oh, those plush toys – my plush toys are big like giants you never have to run from, and I grapple with them as I would the complexities of life itself.

Let me impart a secret: The word “fetch” in The Fetching Deli might imply a game I’ve been invited to play more times than I care to remember. But fetch, my dear human friends, is just another four-letter word. Instead, I prefer the culinary ballet that goes on in that place, where meat is an art form and peanut butter isn’t.

I wander through Spencerville, cushioned by the collective mutterings of contented pets, the hum of reverent yawns at Bow Wow Burgers, and the cacophony of barks at Ruff-n-Ready. Yet I’m not mingling – well, not too much. I’m more the silent observer sort, with my soulful eyes taking in the pulsing life around me.

Still, it’s those quiet moments at the Brindle Brown Boxer Beach when the loneliness is tangible. Yes, we all wait for that golden reunion with the ones who loved us most. That’s when I miss my backyard and my playtime with Dixie, Lilly, Gilligan, Joey, Jess, Rooney, and Spike. Ah, my siblings – bonded in the unlikeliest of unions, proving any place can be home when heartbeats are in sync.

Every dog has a tale, right? Except here in Spencerville… well, we live them. Right now, this magical realm where there’s something flirtatiously unending about the time I get to pass roaming through Golden Gate Gardens or lazing under the familiar shop fronts.

And then, there’s that stuffed monkey. My dearest confidant, an extension of my soul with stuffing and fur, witnessing my Spencerville chronicles, and always there for an affectionate cuddle.

So, yes, I’m a homebody even in this afterglow of a place, but I can’t help it — the backdrop of Spencerville unfurls and around each corner, a whisper of magic, a glimpse of what was and a peek of what’s to be. I may not race across South Siberian Summit or float on the winds of change, but in this life, shaped by tender paws and wagging tails, I am every bit the protagonist of my ethereal story.

And when the time comes, as all the wise old dogs here say it will, the day my human and I reunite, they’ll find a slightly more adventurous soul, with tales to tell of Golden Gates and Brindle Beaches, of grand feasts avoided and plush toys loved, all in the charm-infused realms of Spencerville.

The End.