Hey Mom and Dad,

Just a quick bark from Spencerville! I’ve become quite the spokesdog here. Today I helped bridge the divide over the town’s “Fencing Fiasco” without uttering a single growl—just some steadfast stares and tail wags at the town meeting. Who knew I’d go from chasing tennis balls to rallying peace? Can’t wait to tell you all about it when you’re back. Miss you!

Wags and licks,
Fenny 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

Before dawn even dares to peek over Corgi Castle, before the bright neon shimmer of The Bark Shak flicks on, Spencerville stirs to the subtle sounds of my footsteps. In the velvety embrace of the pre-morning calm, I mull over the quiet before the bustle, the serenity that blankets our town like a thick, dreamy fog.

They say every dog has its day, but in Spencerville, it’s more like every dog has its eternity—and what a glorious eternity it should be. Yet still, in the cradle of perfection, discord can weave its way into the tapestry, and even I, Fenway, with my broad shoulders and amiable demeanor, am not immune to the drama.

The day began like any other. Spencer, draped in a bow tie that announced his presence with more confidence than his bark ever could, advised me over a breakfast of prestigious kibble at The Cat’s Meow Sushi.

“Fenway, it’s about that new ordinance, the ‘Fencing Fiasco,’ they’re calling it.” Spencer’s voice held an edge, a sharpness beneath the usual smoothness. “Keeps some of us from visiting friends across Spencerville. Quite an inconvenience, I’d say.”

I pondered his words, turning over the tennis ball I’d carried with me. Fencing, in Spencerville? A curious notion. To keep pets from roaming free, well, it was a thought as disagreeable to me as dipping a paw into the lake’s shivered waters.

“Nutterbutter?” I invited Spencer, changing the topic with a nudge of my nose toward the cream sandwich cookies he was partial to, acquired from the ever-generous proprietor of Chow Down Chow Chow. We shared a mutual understanding, Spencer and I, that some topics were best digested with the aid of sweets.

It was during one such sugared moment that I witnessed the divide this fence business had created. From Collie Canyon to Shih Tzu Stadium, debates raged on—barks of dissent echoed through morning mists and evening twilights. But for me, it was less about the matter at hand and more a question of unity and peace.

“Sheer madness,” I murmured to myself as I trotted toward The Pawsome Pet Pharmacy, my four-legged stride steady and purposeful.

The sun climbed higher, and with it, my resolve strengthened. Spencerville was home to some of the most spirited and unshakable characters, from Fat Russell, who wove between diners with a drooling grin, pining for a dropped scrap, to Lil Dot, whose tunes hummed above the din, punctuating the heartbeat of our society.

And sweet Millie, with the wanderlust of a seasoned traveler—I imagined how the fences might cage her free spirit as effectively as a thunderstorm traps us indoors.

By day’s end, gravel crunched beneath my paws as I approached the town meeting, the backdrop of The Furry Friends Art Gallery framing our assembly. Today, I would not just be Fenway the Bulldog; I would be Fenway the Spokesdog.

No, not with barks. Not with growls. But with the potent silence of standing firm upon four steady paws. With the languid wagging of my tail, the calm gaze that swept over my audience, I spoke a truth without words.

Paws paused, tails stilled, and a soft hush blanketed the crowd, a mirror image of our dawn. And in that moment, the fences seemed smaller, the spaces between us less daunting.

For if Spencerville had taught me anything, it was that every barrier can be overcome with patience and a gentle disposition—a lesson not unlike the approach I adopted with my tennis ball, round and resilient.

As the stars prickled the darkening sky, I retired to my abode, my kingdom of backyard sovereignty, thoughts adrift toward our future. Spencerville’s legend would live on, our bonds unyielding as the timeless affection we held for our faraway humans.

For now, this was enough—the conflict, the drama, all part of our picaresque existence. And like threads in a tapestry, we were interwoven, bold in color, resolute in purpose—this beautiful tableau of lost hearts awaiting reunion with our owners, wherever, whenever that might be.

The End.