Hey Mom,

Imagine me, Kota, a Rottweiler star in the afterlife’s Olympics for pets. I tackled every challenge with the spirit of our old, snowy playtimes and even led a duck parade at the big splash finale! Life here is one endless, joyful game. Miss you and sending pawfuls of love from Spencerville.

Tail wags,
Kota 🐾

Listen to the story here

Ever heard of the Pet Games? Yeah, that’s the yearly hullabaloo at Spencerville, where I play both spectator and contender, observing and occasionally lunging into the competitive frolic of our canine camaraderie.

See, here in the afterlife’s golden town of Spencerville, life’s a romp, a boundless series of high-stakes games where the stakes are treats, the glory, and, let me tell you, the ultimate bragging rights at Fishy Bites. We all know it’s about the fun, not the win, but try telling that to the Newfoundland knight in slobbering armor over by Red Beagle Beach.

Allow me to set the stage: I’m Kota—charismatic, playful, an old soul with stories etched into my glossy Rottweiler coat. I’ve got a heart shape on my bum and a heart that’s heavy with memories of snowy escapades and the family I left behind. Dylan, my human brother from another mother, stands out there; memories of him would sometimes flurry to the surface like the blizzards we used to chase.

The Pet Games—no dystopian drama here, like you humans fancy. It’s camaraderie in action, it’s about showcasing your moves, whether you’re a terrier with the tenacity or like me, an old-timer with tricks up my non-existent sleeve.

An episode from last week still rings in my mind. There I was, on the sidelines of the Tan Dalmatian Desert, when the announcer’s bark echoed the commencement and all fur broke loose. The Golden Retrievers and Boxers were all hustle and jostle, while the Dachshunds, magnificent beasts, burrowed like bosses.

“On your barks, get set…” the whistle blew and it was a tail-wagging frenzy.

I’m usually beyond this, but I needed a nudge, a push to hurl this mass of muscles into the race. It’s Raya, the new pup with a familiar spark, nudging me to show the world or at least these overeager mutts, how it’s done.

And you know what? I did just that. Weaving through Bullmastiff Boardwalk, I employed every goofy tactic, every playful feint I knew. The goal? Fishy Bites’ finest on the winner’s pedestal.

Fido-faced judges watched as I channeled my snow day memories, dashing, flipping, and—would you believe it—pulling a sleigh, sans the snow. How’s that’s for a winter wonderland throwback?

“And Kota takes the lead!”

Adrenaline and the taste of victory got this paw party started, but it was the sight of Taima Storm, the pup I mentored, cheering on, that kept my heart thumping.

“Dive, Kota, dive!”

The splash at Red Beagle Beach was climactic. They say I emerged with ducks in tow—a Herculean feat, a doggone spectacle, if I say so myself.

At K9 Kebabs, accolades taste like slow-roasted lamb, but the echoes of Dylan’s laughter from forgotten farmlands taste forever sweet. Every playful pant, each thrill of the chase here, it’s a legacy continued, a memory treasured.

Games will come and go, champions honored, tales wagged. But the true contest? It’s against time, waiting for that blissful reunion. Until then, we romp, we roll, and we remember.

This old dog’s still got games to win, sunsets to howl at, and a tale to continue. And I wouldn’t trade a single tail-wagging moment, for in Spencerville—I found my forever playground.

The End.