Hey Mom,

Just won “The Pet Bachelor” here in sunny Spencerville. Beat out a gaggle of googly-eyed pups and found a kindred spirit. My heart’s taken—she’s into quiet sunbathing and vacuum dragon lore, like me. No need for fanfare; it was love at first bark. Tell Dad I’m still his wingman, though!

Tail wags and face licks,
Buddy

Listen to the story here

Somehow, I knew this day was inevitable—a day such as this in the good old town of Spencerville. Call it fate, call it a whimsical twist of the cosmic leash, but here I was, with a clear azure sky arching like a vast, protective dome above Spencerville, ready to take center stage as the most eligible bachelor.

Let it be known that Buddy, esteemed English Bulldog of considerable charm and mottled brown coat, was no stranger to the contest of hearts. With my robust physique and soulful eyes, I found myself humorously, if somewhat uneasily, at the heart of “The Pet Bachelor” spectacle on the fetching sprung lawns of the Siberian Summit.

I eschew false modesty; a chap ought to confess when he’s a bit of a catch. After all, within my grumpy visage beats a gallant heart as tender as the deli meats at The Doggy Bagel Deli. But I digress.

Day one, and with a sniff of the delicate airs around Boxer Beach, I began my foray into Courtship with a capital ‘C’. Dare I say, I was not prepared for the fawning affections of a Chihuahua with eyes like twinkling stars or the galumphing adoration of a tousled Dalmatian dame. They jostled for attention, tails wagging in a symphony of rhythms unique to the love-stricken.

“Steady on, ladies,” I’d say. “There’s plenty of Buddy to go around.” But it wasn’t just the genteel art of the snuggle and the ardent gaze I was after, no. I sought an ethos, a kindred spirit who’d bask in the sun beside me without pulling to shade, who’d come car-riding across Boxer Beach with the wind flapping our jowls.

As the show unfolded, I entertained them, each aspirant hopeful marching up to the plinth where I lounged like an emperor of old—though far more generous in scratching behind the ears. Some proffered baubles from Fetch! Toys and Treats as love tokens; others performed tricks and antics befitting The Pawfect Training Center’s finest alumni.

I savored their offerings, each encounter enlightening, entertaining, and enough to make a bulldog blush. Yet, through it all, I clung to the thought of that sacred park realm; the kingdom I held dear, hoping for someone who understood.

It was at the week’s peak, under a crescendo of exaggerated excitement, that a husky lass with a mischievous glint trotted up to me. She offered no toy, fetched no stick, but whispered softly about a shared sunbath in silence. My heart may have skipped a beat or two. We talked of vacuum dragons and lemons’ tart deceit, and I thought she just might be the one to endure the noble struggle of stubbornness versus the call for endless affection.

Presently, attending a soiree at Paws On The Grill, I made my selection. Collar stiff, I stood before my assembled admirers.

“Ladies,” I commenced gravely, every inch the Bulldog of substance, “In this theater of the heart, there can be but one whom I bestow my bone—ahem, my heart.”

A paw tenderly placed, the husky lass beside me, and that was that. Of ritual and roses, there was no need; we knew the marrow of it without such fripperies. We’d meet in the morrow, with sun rays to share and two smiles hidden in furry repose.

So was the tale of my unlikely foray into the quagmire of romantic escapade in Spencerville—complete with folly, a tad of spectacle, and enough warmth to keep the heart snug between rumbles of laughter. And of course, one can’t forget the joyous anticipation of those yet to come, for one thing always remained true: companionship, like the sun, is best when shared.

The End.