Hey there,

Just wanted to share I’m living the dream in Spencerville – Chief Mischief Maker and unofficial Mayor of Barksville. 🐾 I’ve taken on the noble calling of guarding our motley crew of furry pals and making sure drama stays in check (looking at you, Tilly 🐱✨). Still romping, loving, and occasionally defending our furry utopia. Missing the old gang, but the paw prints we’ve made here are forever. Meet me at Bark ‘n’ Roll for a tail-waggin’ good time. Meatballs on me!

Woofs and wags,
K-M 😉🐕💕

Listen to the story here

In the bustling heart of Spencerville, just past the cheerful clinking of Doggy Delight’s dishes and under the watchful eaves of the East Pug Palace, I found myself indulging in the kind of life that seemed a casual daydream to the uninitiated. Kara-may—that’s me, your humble, four-legged narrator with the coat that rivals the finest tapestry, prancing on streets paved with endless possibilities.

Each morning began with a symphony, orchestrated by the devoted staff at Happy Hounds Dog Walking. The air carried the melody of my foster family, a tune that lingered even as I became a seasoned citizen of our little heaven. If they could see me now, lounging on the sun-kissed patio of Waggle n’ Wok, they’d say I hadn’t aged a day—and darling, they wouldn’t be lying.

The extended family here, you ask? Consider us a mosaic of misfits, a canine Full House without the canned laughter—unless Max lets out one of his quips, which he does with unnerving precision. And Tilly, with her feline grace and delusions of grandeur, provided our daily dose of drama, insisting on recreating scenes she must have dreamt, for no alley ever knew such a panther.

My days were full: romps with these creatures of my heart, secrets whispered to the twinkling stars, and a love-affair with those beef meatballs. Ah, the meatballs! My foster mother’s hands, artisans of the clandestine feast, would have been proud to see their craft become legend in Spencerville’s esteemed culinary circles.

As evenings draped us in their velvety embrace, we would gather at Bark ‘n’ Roll—the jukebox crooning tunes from lives once lived. It was there that I, an aficionado of harmonica solos, would close my eyes, allowing the bluesy notes to wash over me, the serenades of my cherished park companion tangibly absent, yet undeniably present.

But don’t be fooled by my wistful tone. I guard this utopia with vigor. Though my bite’s employment is a tale of rare necessity, my bark is ever-ready—a solemn vow to protect the patchwork family we’ve become. For in Spencerville, though we yearn for our beloved humans with a bittersweet patience, we are each other’s keepers, whisperers of shared solace and joy.

And while you might think our stories are all too sweet, remember the sly twist of lemon—an unpalatable guest—in my otherwise perfect world. Yet, even that sour dance becomes a comedy, a testament to life’s flavor, imperfect but cherished.

In ethereal moments, when twilight sings and stars ignite, I feel them—the absent whispers of my siblings. Their names carried on the breeze, compatriots in this serene interim. Together in spirit, playing in the moon’s soft glow, we wait, our tales entwined, our hearts ever-hopeful for the reunion promised in the legend of Spencerville.

So here I reside, Kara-may, your faithful confidant and guide—a sable, white and merle lady among the varied hues of Spencerville—a family forged not by blood, but by memories, and sustained by the belief in a love that lives on, tails wagging in joyous anticipation.

The End.