Hey Mom,

Just wrapped another wild day at the office where my “paw-sitive” influence runs the show, supporting pups like Max in meetings and sharing wisdom without so much as a bark. Oh, and guess who shone on camera again? Yep, your old furball KOTA, steering these youngsters through the highs and lows, while keeping Dylan’s spirit alive in all of us. Remember, it’s all about that ledger of love (and a good bone to chew on)!

Hugs and tail wags,
KOTA 🐾

Listen to the story here

I clocked in at the Golden Retriever River Investment Firm, strolling through the open-plan office space, marked by cubicles teeming with activities less mundane and more… tail-waggingly delightful. You’d think, with my Rottweiler build, I’d be looming over mergers and muttquisitions, but no, my role was infinitely more subtle and, dare I say, more vital.

The camera crew, with their furry-boom mics and treat-toting grips, captured every humorous hustle; from the cat in accounting who was forever “correcting” the printer, to the dachshund in legal who couldn’t quite reach the top drawer. But I, KOTA, a connoisseur of character, hovered around like a serene sentinel, the Jim to their Michael, if you catch my drift.

For instance, take this morning’s meeting. Max, a sprightly young Beagle with an earnest bark, trotted his way through a PawerPoint presentation, detailing stats and stick figures. As I perched by my desk, a whiff of leather-bound ledger and the faintest hint of the pastures of yesterday, I couldn’t help but let out a wistful sigh.

“KOTA, could use your input here,” Max hollered, tail wagging with the nervous energy of an intern on espresso shots. I padded softly over, plopping down beside him and tilting my head, offering that touch of gravitas only an elder with a heart-shaped guise could.

You see, leadership is as much about listening as it is about barking orders. A tilt of the head, the right kind of silence, can wield power; it can give pups like Max the assurance they crave.

My penchant, though, was for nurturing, a side I dare say flourished more than a sunflower at midsummer. A nudge of my nose directed Max to emphasize the long-term projections, spinning a web of whimsy tales about Spencerville’s economic boom and the sweet smell of success tickling even the stubby noses at White Westie Woods.

This was my stage, and the banter was my ballet – a pas de deux of paws and procedural paperwork, a delicate tiptoe, not upon a tight rope, but a sturdy rope tug – my favorite pastime.

“He’s got a point,” said a voice from the back—a sleek Greyhound named Stella with a comedic timing so divine she’d have the cat in stitches, literally and figuratively.

Lunch rolled around, a fiesta of flavors at Pup-Tizers, where I’d slowly savor the day’s special while the camera played witness. A mystery treat oft whispered in hushed tones between furry friend and fond human. They’d never tell, and rightly so, as I’m a spirit, not a spoiler. But oh, the power of a meal shared, of breaking bread—or bones—among friends, it’s unparalleled.

Wistful as I may get, thinking about the young lad Dylan, off serving in a world that extended beyond the Golden Retriever’s glinting stream, I revel in the knowing glances of my associates who understand the very texture of loyalty.

Later, back at my desk, Dylan’s face flashed across the screen in a visage nothing less than heroic; a Marine worth every whine of separation. It was during these elusive pangs of absence, in the quiet after the lunchtime ruckus, I felt not just the stretch of time and distance but the peculiar warmth of continuity through the timely appearance of young RAYA.

As the day winded down, and the laughter dimmed to a gentle hum, I, KOTA, sprawled beneath my desk, offered a wink to the camera—the unseen twinkle of a life celebrated, a bond unbroken by farewells, a legacy embellished in fur and fond, a yarn spun in the folksy tapestry of Spencerville’s grand and gentle offices.

With every episode, there was a nod to the timeless truth that in the ledger of love, no currency can match the unyielding loyalty of a noble heart, even one with a playful streak of mischief.

So, as I closed the ledger with a final lick and paw press, the credits rolled, depicting the mundane yet magical lives of Spencerville’s finest – an office of paws, purred memos, and patience, ever now and again, personified.

The End.