Hey Mom 🌼,

Whirlwind day at Brindle Brown Boxer Beach! Spent it dodging the spray from the caffeinated kangaroo antics of Strider and Gunner 😂, led the pack through a gastronomic odyssey at The Barkery (hello, pancake sins), and played shadow tag in the Westie Woods. Ended our day with a sunset that would’ve stolen your heart 💖. Keeping the loneliness at bay with moonlit dreams and pack cuddles. Spencerville is a hoot with paws on the ground, and I’m your Daisy Mae, romping through each chapter of this fur-tastic storyline.

Sweet dreams,
Daisy Mae Marie 🐾

Listen to the story here

Stepping onto the warm, ripe sands of Brindle Brown Boxer Beach, there’s a distinct buzz in the air, a kind of electric anticipation – or is it just the hum of my own four-paw drive revving into high gear? Minutes ago, I was sprawled atop my favorite rug, the one that smells delightfully of hamburger happiness and sun-soaked snoozes, dallying between dreams of chicken legged-chase and the reality of my serene Spencerville abode. But here I am, embracing the coastal concerto of wave rolls and seagull serenades, paw prints punctuating the shore as symphonic souvenirs.

The horizon, oh it calls with a charmer’s grin, all azure winks and saline temptations. And there’s me, Daisy, torn between the aquatic allure and the sand’s embrace, the boxer ambivalence is a real quagmire. I’m a splasher, not so much a swimmer; like dipping a toe in the existential pool of life while clinging to the safety of the Patio of Predictability. Then again, predictability never did quench the thirst for frolic and fray.

Speaking of fray, chaos incarnate approached in the form of Strider and Gunner, my esteemed brothers, bounding like caffeinated kangaroos, churning sand as if beachgoers were in dire need of an impromptu facial. Our encounters are a whirlwind of paws and playful headbutts; not so much coexisting as colliding with companionship. Hedonism on four legs, you might say.

The Barkery looms in the distance, wafting scents that snarl my senses and tempt me with carb-loaded promises. “One must watch the figure,” I muse. A boxer with a bun, while adorable, is hardly the epitome of beach body readiness. That being said, my legs propel me toward Pawsome Pancakes, another of life’s cruelest jokes; a portal of gastronomy I cannot, will not resist. Basking in Spencerville’s gourmet glut, I wonder how food ties into the tapestry of connection – I share stolen bites, close encounters over shared plates, a sneak from Strider’s bowl rendering us accomplices in culinary crime.

Occupying the role of ringleader, I lead my merry pack toward Eastern White Westie Woods, a place of shadow and dappled light, the ultimate stomping ground for paws charged with boundless energy. The sprints, the chases, the high-noon standoffs with squirrels, rebels all, challenging our dogged resolve.

We take respite in the embrace of Lower Golden Gate Gardens when the sun kisses the crest, bidding farewell with a painter’s palette of oranges and pinks; it’s as if the sky itself has taken to soft pastels, ushering us toward evening’s embrace. This is when the air shifts, squeezing in close and whispering of solitude. I loathe the thought, for we, the gregarious and the warm-furred, fear nothing as we do the chills of loneliness.

Now, in the company of moon’s gentle rise, I sometimes wonder of other realms, of reunions promised in hushed, heartfelt assurances. The notion humbles me, pivots my thoughts to the here and now, where friendships forged cannot be seen by human eyes, known solely in the knowing nudges and the camaraderie of this canine-centric domain.

But ah, speak not of melancholy’s shadow, for the night swells with the promise of dreams. A symphony of snores soon embarks upon the silent Spencerville streets, punctuated by the occasional hiccup, the nocturnal leg twitch, or the quizzical whine of a dream too bold to recall come morning’s light.

Friends, chase your bliss. Sniff every bush and tree as if a treasure waits beneath, for this I’ve learned as Daisy, boxer extraordinaire, romancer of life’s spree. In Spencerville, the saga spins, an anthology of tails wagged, lives loved, and moments savored in the good, sweet wait.

The End.

Share This Story: