Hey buddy, just me, Sal. Unfur-tunately, I’ve discovered Jim’s got a new pup, but I’ve been philosophizing with the old timers by the river and belting out karaoke with Max. Learned that love isn’t less with more to share – keeps getting richer, like gravy. Misadventures await, but I’ll always keep a paw on the memories. Life’s sunny spots still call my name. 🐾 Catch you on the woof side! – Sal

Well, hello again, friend. It’s me, Sally—a charming Mixed breed philosopher and raconteur, as you very well know. Here I am, perpetually young at heart in the fabled Spencerville, where the sun always holds that late-afternoon slant, just perfect for distant musings and nearby naps on what one might call an eternal porch.

Now, you wouldn’t expect drama to unfold in such a canine utopia, but then, life’s never short on surprise biscuits, is it? Take the other day, for instance. I was lounging outside Dog-gone Good BBQ, where even the fragrance of smoked bones seemed to have found a resting place in Zen harmony. That’s when Bella, the high and mighty cat, sauntered by with a tail that could pen volumes of disdain without scribbling a single meow.

She delivered the news as if dropping off an unwanted mouse at my doorstep. “Sally, darling, it seems your Jim has taken in a new pup,” she purred, her voice like smooth chicken gravy—my favorite, but not when served with a side of unsettling updates.

If I had a coffee, I would have choked on it, comically spluttering out across an unseen room of clapping studio audience members. A new pup? The thought settled heavy on my patchwork soul. Jim’s gentle hands, once my solace, now ruffling another’s ears.

Our tête-à-têtes at East Pug Palace, however, have taught me existential patience. After all, we all find ourselves here eventually, and we wait, our memories as fresh as the day’s catch from Southern Golden Retriever River.

And it’s right there—by that same river—that I sought counsel from the wise old canine scholars who perpetually play chess and pretend to misunderstand when they’re asked to fetch. “What is the meaning of loyalty,” I howled, “if our humans just move on?”

They exchanged glances usually reserved for when someone mistook a hydrant for a chess piece. “Dear Sally,” murmured a grey-muzzled Labrador garbed in intellectually thick glasses. “Jim’s heart, much like our leashes once were, is an expansive one. Like the waters of this river, love isn’t diminished by the new, but rather, it’s enriched.”

I contemplated his words as Max, my spirited beagle friend, bounded over to distract me from the heavy clunk of my own heart. He invited me to The Bark Shak for a lighthearted romp of karaoke—no longer just the howl-at-the-moon variety, but tunes barked out in melodious glee.

We sang a duet—it was something about being happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time (it’s quite the catchy number). It was halfway through a howled lyric that revelation struck; my heart, my memories with Jim are mine to keep, woven into the fabric of Spencerville.

And as the night wore on, I sat with my rambunctious siblings, sharing stories of Jim and laughing over our youthful antics, feeling warmth in the solidarity of our pack. I realized that Jim’s love was a gift without an expiration date—a notion that soothed the sting of lemons, both literal and philosophical.

So let the pup have his sun puddles and chicken chunks. Jim’s heart and mine are secure in the patchwork blanket of yesterday—always connected, waiting for our paths to merge once again in this almost perfect place.

For now, I have my tattered old stuffed squirrel to plan escapades with and Max’s zest to keep my spirit alight. After all, adventure and tranquility coexist within me, ever the Gandalf among dogs—staff or no staff. And in between the laughter and the songs, I wait. We all do, and there’s a beauty in that patience. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a sunbeam with my name on it and thoughts to ponder over.

The End.

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