Hey Mom, guess what? I’m the caped crusader of Spencerville now – leapt into superhero status with a side of cheddar courage. Doesn’t get cheesier than this! Saved Poodle Pond from a maniac vacuum cleaner today, and all while practicing my majestic “I meant to do that” landings. Hugo aka The Duke of Dogdom, signing off. 🐾🧀💪 #FlyingPitbullerina

The day I discovered I had superpowers, it wasn’t because I had some grand awakening. It wasn’t like one of those moments you see in the comics, where there’s lightning and glowing paws or whatever. No, it was far less glamorous. I leapt into Cream Maltese Meadow, just like any other day, but instead of plodding along, I soared. I mean, really soared. It was the cheese, had to be. It was the only thing that made sense. That new cheddar from The Snooty Snout Boutique must’ve had some secret ingredient.

Who knew cheese could do that? Well, other than those lactose-tolerant felines. But hey, that’s just one more reason to distrust cats.

Anyway, I digress.

I, Hugo, known protector of backyards, sunbathing aficionado, and part-time bone enthusiast, had somehow tapped into a hidden reservoir of immense power, right here in Spencerville. And as I hovered over Collie Canyon – pretty nifty, I must say – I knew that I, a handsome pit bull with a disposition as sunny as an afternoon nap in the garden, had found my true calling.

Saving Spencerville, one paw at a time.

Now, Spencerville is not your run-of-the-mill town. It’s the kind of place where dreams are on tap and life is a buffet of bliss — if not a little on the absurd side. Imagine: canines munching on Furrific Fried Chicken at tables, dressed better than most humans, while cats . . . well, they do whatever it is that cats do when they’re pretending to be indifferent.

My buddy Lonnie Ray, a motley mutt with his own loyal following, was always by my side. We were the dynamic duo of this doggy paradise, off to face whatever shenanigans unfurled before us.

Lonnie would say, “Hugo, you’ve got the grace of a ballerina and the strength of a bull. Together, we’re unstoppable.”

“More like a pit bull-erina, right?” I’d reply, followed by a chuckling snort that would break any solemn moment.

Back to the flying part. It’s all well and good until you have to figure out landings. Which I hadn’t. So, like any self-respecting superhero, I improvised. Tail propellors engaged — nope, that’s just wagging. Brakes — huh, non-existent.

“Ever considered a career in super-heroism?” Lonnie would heckle whenever he saw me practice my crash landings.

“It’s all in the dismount!” I’d retort, brushing the dirt from my fur. It’s better to have tried and tumbled, right?

One particular afternoon, as I was perfecting the art of the dignified faceplant, news of trouble broke. The Poodle Pond was being terrorized by an overzealous vacuum cleaner gone rogue. Just my kind of challenge.

“You think you have what it takes?” Lonnie ribbed me as we sprinted toward the scene, my cape — an old bath towel I had valiantly endured countless times — flapping in the wind.

“I don’t think, I know,” I shot back with the confidence of one who’s narrowly escaped many a bath time skirmish.

Upon arrival, the chaos was palpable. Poodles perched perilously in trees, their poofs fluffed in panic. Pup-Tizers had spilled over, dog treats littering the sidewalk, and in the center of it all, the vacuum cleaner, cords awhirl, sucking up balls and bones with reckless abandonment.

It was time for Spencerville’s newest hero to step up. Well, fly up.

Leaping into the fray (and secretly hoping my newfound powers weren’t a one-time fluke), I collided with the vacuum, my irrefutable strength meeting machine. Fur bristled, teeth bared, I sunk my paws into the villainous appliance, and with a satisfying thrum, it powered down.

Or maybe it just unplugged. We’ll never know.

Triumphant, I landed amidst cheers and barks of relief, my loyal friend Lonnie applauding the loudest. “Never a dull moment with you, Hug,” he said, grinning ear to floppy ear.

I stood tall, paw raised in victory, a caped crusader, a regular Joe turned legend. Sure, I might dread the dog park, but today, I had saved one.

Fishy Bites would write tales of this, and The Howling Husky Hardware Store would sell Hugo action figures (some assembly required). Yet deep down, beneath the heroics and the hovering, I knew it was just a slice of that heroic life we all dream of.

And that, my friends, is only the beginning of the fantastically feisty forays of me, Hugo, Spencerville’s cheese-powered custodian of candor and curiosity.

The End.