Hey there,

In Spencerville, I’m Caddie Boy, the four-legged narrator of our tail-wagging tale. With my gang, the Pets of Anarchy, I saunter on mini-motos, uphold the peace, and ponder life’s quirks between belly rubs. We live in memory and hope, each day a story of joy and companionship in our furry utopia. Ride on!

Paws and reflect,
Caddie Boy 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

In the dappled sunlight of Spencerville, where the grass seems to sing with the joy of ten thousand wagging tails, my days unfold with the verve of a squeaky toy symphony. I’m Caddie Boy, the Blonde Pugshire with a fur coat kissed by sunshine and the snout of humorous intent. Here, in this town time seems to have licked affectionately on the cheek, I run – well, more accurately, I saunter – with the Pets of Anarchy.

We’re a ragtag band of ruffians, if by ‘ragtag’ you mean meticulously groomed and by ‘ruffians’ you mean well-intentioned custodians of chivalry and canine order. In Spencerville, we maintain the kind of peace that makes cats purr and humans sigh in remembrance.

My old routine with Jenny, the toss-and-catch games featuring an airborne apple as the coveted trophy, has been replaced by the roar of miniature engines beneath me. I may not have thumbs, but I have a spirit for freedom that grips handlebars with enthusiasm.

Oh, how we parade down Bullmastiff Boardwalk, my gang and I, astride pint-sized motorcycles that growl like the Big Dogs we fancy ourselves as. Marley, with his long body hugging the curves of the road, eyes twinkling with mischief, and Bella, graceful as ever, barely acknowledging the wind disturbing her whiskers as we ride.

Our haunts are as legendary as the myths that brought us here. We convene at the Bow Wow Bistro for doggie bags brimming with culinary delights – no citrus, thank you, I leave those to the lemon-loving lunatics. We discuss the conundrums of our existence: a lingering ball left unchased, the enigma of the red dot, and why belly rubs, like sunsets, must end.

The Dog-gone Good BBQ is our spot for reveling, where the smell of smoked meats hangs as heavy as our hearts when they remember those we’ve left behind. But that heaviness? It’s lifted in the camaraderie we share, the silent understanding that each of us is a chapter in someone else’s story, waiting for that bittersweet reunion.

In Golden Gate Gardens, amidst the fireflies that perform ballets for no one in particular, I think of Jenny. I muse on the transient nature of life and chuckle at the philosophical depth I attribute to myself. I was, after all, the same dog that considered a well-timed fart a masterful punchline.

Legends say that one day our paths will reunite us with our former companions. Until then, we live out this fantastical existence. We protect our utopia, shoulder to tiny shoulder, even if those shoulders are at times distracted by a passing butterfly.

You might hear people say that I’m wise, and maybe I am. But only in the way that chasing one’s tail can teach you about life’s circular paths. Only in the way that every snuggle and mischievously pilfered sock has led me here – to Spencerville, where every day is an epilogue of happy memories and the promise of joyous tomorrows.

So let the Pets of Anarchy ride on, my dear friend, preserving peace and sniffing out the adventures that await us in our perfect pocket of eternity.

The End.

Share This Story: