Hey Mom,

Just wanted to let you know that I’ve fully embraced being the furry heroine of Spencerville. Today, I led a pack to uncover the mysteries of Poodle Pond and stumbled upon a reflection of a better world for all us four-leggers. It’s like we’re living our very own tail-wagging fairy tale without you humans. Miss our cuddles, but we’re doing good, making our own way and keeping the dream alive.

Hugs and head tilts,
Roxy Foo-Foo 🐾

Listen to the story here

As twilight brushed the sky with strokes of melancholy grey, an air of somber tranquility settled over the ravaged remains of what humanfolk used to call a city. Now, only echoes danced among the derelict buildings—a ghost of the old world. In an uncanny twist of fate, it was amongst these shadows that Spencerville came to be: a haven, nigh an oasis, for the likes of me and my four-pawed brethren.

You see, I’m Roxy, a mishmash of Rottweiler and Chow with a smidgen of Labrador, if you care for specifics. When the great calamity befell those of the two-legged persuasion, Spencerville arose from the ashes, a canine Shangri-La, hidden in the folds of an otherwise dismal horizon.

On a regular day, much unlike this one, I might fancy myself a gallop ’round Western Labradoodle Lake, but not today. Today, the air hung heavy with foreboding and the scent of adventures yet unlived. Sammy, my partner in crime—that’s what the humans used to call such kindred spirits—stood by my side. His whiskered snout twitched as he scanned the horizon, a faithful friend mirrored in his eyes.

“You reckon it’s safe, Roxy?” Sammy quizzed, a bark of uncertainty betraying his usual spunk.

I contemplated his question, my stance resolute yet easy, my head held high with that peculiar mix of curiosity and caution my breed’s known for. “Safe as a nap in the sun, I’d venture—but adventure ain’t never come with guarantees.”

With a nod from me, Sammy and I ambled toward the town’s limits. Once, a grand sign welcomed folks to Spencerville, but the letters, now half-eaten by time, strained to frame our humble community.

A detour took us past Chow Down Chow Chow, though the promise of savory delights did little to distract. Today, our sights were set beyond our usual haunts. We could almost hear the human grown-ups mutter ’bout ‘Manifest Destiny,’ a term floating around before they vanished. I reckon it was our turn to claim it—paw by paw, step by step.

Past the eateries and boutiques, we trod down a gravel path, wearing courage as a cloak ‘gainst the unknown wilds. Our goal? To reclaim a piece of paradise our folk used whispered about: Poodle Pond. Legends claimed its waters could reflect your heart’s truest contentment.

A rustling in the underbrush snagged my attention, yet I remained still as stone, while Sammy’s ears perked up with a warrior’s readiness. We weren’t alone. A gangly figure bounded toward us—it was Beauregard, a bloodhound of considerable nose and tales to match.

“Beauregard, ol’ chap! To what do we owe the pleasure?” I asked, tail wagging a cautious tempo.

“The Pond,” he bellowed, voice echoing like the bellows of old. “Something’s got the critters in a fuss.”

Sammy’s eyes glinted with the spark of curiosity, his spirit aflame. “A fuss, you say? Why, that’s our call to action!”

Despite the gravity of Beauregard’s tidings, I couldn’t help a half-smile playing on my muzzle. Rottweilers aren’t much for smiling, you understand, but Sammy’s eagerness was a contagion spread faster than tail wags at a reunion.

So it was decided, without much ado; we’d venture forth to soothe the murmurs of Poodle Pond. Onward, through the overgrown byways of a long-forgotten city, we marched. Sammy, that dauntless beacon of moxie, led us through brambles, his spirit undampened. I kept pace with a protective gaze; those roving spirits of curiosity and care tempered by the pangs of past loneliness.

As our motley crew came upon the pond, a sight most remarkable beheld our gaze. Beneath a sky painted with the pink and oranges of a setting sun, the pond rippled with reflections not of what stood before it, but of some ethereal haven lost to us since the humans departed—a glimpse of a world filled with endless parks and unfettered joy. The critters, from fish to fowl, shimmered with a light so pure it rivalled the star of day.

“The Pond… It beckons,” Beauregard murmured, more to himself than us, his droopy eyes wide with wonder.

And perhaps that’s what our kind was meant to do in this disjointed world—find the pockets of pure, untouched peace, the Spencervilles hidden in every corner of the world’s weary heart.

So, if ever you’re trotting by Spencerville way, you might glimpse me, Roxy, and my pals, reflectin’ on the pond’s surface, not as we are, but as we dream to be. For in our paw prints lies the path to a new world. And though the roar of vacuums and vet clinics haunt our dreams less these days, we carry on—courageous, curious, and forever faithful that the bond ‘tween pets and their humans ain’t something easily broken by worlds fallin’ ‘part.

Remember, whether near or far, every one of us in Spencerville carries a piece of you in our canter and our courage. And if you perchance to listen, amid the rubble of an old sprawl, you might just hear the whispers of a tale worth waggin’ about—a Rottweiler-Chow’s post-apocalyptic dream of unity, hope, and tails held high.

The End.