Hey Dad,

Head honcho Bubba here, just wrapped up a wild day at the office: chaired a dog conference, dodged bagel temptations, wowed with my Jolly Ball gavel. We put the ‘paw’ in powerpoint & the ‘fun’ in conference fundogmentals! Caught a bit of homesickness but leading the pack sure keeps my tail wagging. Another day conquered in Spencerville. 🐾🏢🎾

Licks and wags,
Bentley

There I was, ensconced in my plush, if slightly chewed-up, ergonomic bed under the mahogany desk of Marley & Paws—a nine to five not of the human sort, but rather the canine variety. Welcome to Spencerville’s premier pet-friendly workspace: a bustling hive of activity where the clicking of claws on linoleum resonates like stiletto heels on a marble foyer. Here, one can take their usual dog day and spin it into a productive whirlwind, or at least that’s the idea.

As Bentley, head of the Recreation Department—and don’t let the title fool you, it’s not all Jolly Ball romps and bone-burying seminars—I pride myself on the rigorous absence of rigor in my domain. Today promised a torrent of activity, with the Canine Connectivity Conference slated to start promptly at the bark of ten. And by prompt, I mean whenever Lady, the ever-fashionable Afghan hound, decided to grace us with her otherworldly presence. She is punctuality’s foe, our Lady.

But let’s take a step back, to the morning’s enterprise, which kicked off with my customary amble through the endless row of doggy cubicles. A proper supervisor ensures his team’s morale never wanes, you see. Waning morale leads to chewed-up reports and water-cooler conspiracies about who stole whose bone from the communal toy box.

Fat Russell, my compadres in countless escapades, manned (or dogged, as we say in Spencerville) the adjacent department known as Belly Rubs and Beyond. An office more suited for a dog of his lethargic inclination has yet to be fashioned by the hands or paws of anyone in Spencerville. Why, only last Tuesday, Fat Russell managed to procure a continuous three-hour belly rub session under the very nose of our German Shepherd CEO. But that’s another story for another dog biscuit break.

My rounds brought me to the tail end of Greyhound Grove, just as the aroma of The Doggy Bagel Deli’s everything bagel wafted through the vents, accompanied, I must admit, by the less welcome zephyr of Pawsome Pancakes’ latest maple bacon experiment. Breakfast, regretfully, had concluded hours prior (at the break of dawn, to be precise). How I pine for a slice of pepperoni pizza or a snippet of dad’s hamburger—but persistence, in the face of vegetable adversity, is at the core of my meat-loving being.

Nearing my desk, the unmistakable sound of keys jingling hinted at a meeting. I snatched my Jolly Ball, ever the token of authority, between my jowls and assumed the position of official convener. The Conference would unfold in the heart of Shepherd Skyline, a grand room with windows overlooking the bustling streets of Spencerville, where a dog could watch, dream, and occasionally drool.

As the attendees gathered—among them, a Pekingese that fancied herself an expert in holistic tail-chasing and a Labradoodle with a penchant for overzealous PowerPoint presentations—I settled into my role as host. Talking points were barked, disc thrown, and chew toys squeaked with the urgency of a stock market floor.

I shan’t bore you with the minutiae of conference proceedings, but know this: the essence of Spencerville was palpable in each wagging tail, each heartfelt ‘woof.’ It was, as they say, an exceptional bout of organized chaos, a medley of purpose and pandemonium. I presided over it all, Bentley, your four-legged facilitator, wrangler of fun, and champion of the canine spirit.

By day’s end, as the sun dipped below Shepherd Skyline, casting shadows across Northern Choco Chihuahua Castle and a warm glow through our office windows, the conclusion was unanimous; a grand success, attested to by the contented sighs and nap-ready demeanor of my colleagues.

Reflecting on the day’s triumph, I could only surmise that, though the expanse of my furry heart yearned for my dad’s companionship, the joy distilled from leading my friends surpassed the occasional bout of homesickness. For in Spencerville, each day is an odyssey, replete with the unspoken promise of wonders yet to unfurl—at least until five o’clock, or whenever the last back scratch has been administered.

The End.