Hey Mom,

Just wanted to let you know your son’s been living the dream in Spencerville—think talking dogs’ paradise, where breakfast smells like bacon and squeaky bones rain from the heavens. Today I led the pack to a valley of never-ending playtime, and let me tell ya, I channeled my inner pup like a pro. Remember, it’s all about the simple joys. Oh, and remind Dad, we’re still out of cheese.

Woofs and wags,
Tony the Tailsman

Listen to the story here

So there I am, Tony, with my black and white coat as neat as a new pack of cards, the click-clack of my determined paws on cobblestone echoing through Spencerville’s awakening streets. I am but a stout bull in a china shop of existence, navigating my way toward another day’s adventure. Labradoodle Lake lies ahead, shimmering like a pool of liquid sapphires, while Corgi Castle’s flags flap with the sort of gaiety you’d expect at a medieval fair, if medieval fairs had more tail-wagging and less plague.

Oh, Spencerville! A paradise constructed, a diorama as complex and as simple as a child’s first understanding of home – except with more furry residents and fewer teething troubles. Here I am loved. Here I have purpose. And yet, sometimes I feel like an actor on an eternal stage, my colleagues preening and reciting lines scripted by a cosmos with an apparent sense of humor.

As I waddle past Waggle n’ Wok, the scent of sizzling bacon mingles with the cool morning air. My belly, a seasoned critic of good taste, rumbles its approval. But breakfast is a mission I’m compelled to share with friends. Bella and Max, my partners in time, romp over, all ears and anticipation.

Max has that glint in his eye, the one that says he’s schemed up something that will leave us panting and starry-eyed. “I’ve found something,” he confides, voice low and smooth like jazz on a Sunday morning.

“Is it cheese?” That would be my stomach clinging to hope.

“No, better. Follow me.”

So we trot off, an entourage of mix-and-match varieties, the streets under our paws leading to curious nooks only possible in our human-less utopia. We meander past The Pooch Playhouse, pausing briefly to exchange sniffs and hellos with the local terrier troupe before reaching our destination.

Silver Siberian Summit peers down at us, its peak touching skies bluer than any memory of sadness. Max leads us round back, to where the land dips into a secret valley. A valley that’s filled with… bones. Not just any bones, but thousands of rubber squeaky bones, each one built to withstand the tenacity of canine jaws and the ambition of apex predators turned playful peers.

My heart, with its drumming full of old rhythms and soulful sighs, leaps. I am torn between the desire to leap into that golden ocean of toys and the stubborn anchor of my dignity.

“Since when did bones grow on trees?” I scoff, my eyes betraying the gruffness of my words.

“Since someone dreamed they could,” remarks Bella, her nose twitching with restrained zeal, and honestly, who could blame it?

And that’s when it hits me, the warm wave of a truth as comforting as it is clear: Spencerville, in its own peculiar and poignant way, shakes the seriousness from our souls. Our humanness, gifted to us again in this odd world, is both our riddle and our resolution.

Should we chase these bones, symbols of our unbounded joy? As sure as my coat is black and white and my stubbornness is as pronounced as my nose, yes. We should chase these bones with the passion of poets and the glee of children granted a snow day in a lifetime of summers.

I bound forward, my noble frame loosened from its usually regal bearing, and I squeak a bone with the sort of delightful dissonance that could only spell happiness.

And as we play, I muse silently to myself that this affair might seem trivial to any observing deity thumbing through the channels of existence. Yet here, in our Spencerville, whether in the shadow of Corgi Castle or the summit of canine recklessness, we revel in the magnificence of the here and now.

Not an escape, but an embrace. Not a retreat, but a charge forward into the limitless sky where memories, hope, and joy orbit a sun that never sets on the good days.

The End.