Hey Mom,

Guess who’s gone Casanova? Met a ghostly Cocker Spaniel, Princess, by the pier. She’s majestic! Our chats are tail-wagging good—think doggy Jane Austen. Sad part? She vanishes at dawn. But we’ve got moonlit dates now! Who knew your Charlie would fall for a specter? Love’s gone paranormal! 🐾👻

Tail wags and nose boops,
Charlie

As the daylight surrendered to dusk, I, Charlie, with fur as golden as the sun’s last wink at day, embarked on one of my customary escapes to Pawsburgh—the land where twilight romances blossomed faster than you could say, “Who’s a good boy?”

Pointer Pier was my first stop. The timber beneath my paws clapped a rhythmic applause for the tango of waves, and my tail kept time, a faithful metronome to the sea’s ebb and flow. The bustle of the pier, the scent of Chihuahua’s Chimichangas lingering in the air, and the laughter of fellow canines plotting beauty or mischief—or both—set the stage.

Ah, but the plot thickened as I approached Fido’s Feast. There, perched on the ‘Reserved for Royalty’ cushion, was the most supernatural creature I had ever smelled—Princess, a ghostly Cocker Spaniel whose translucent ears fluttered like gossamer in a gentle breeze. My heart, expansive as it was, seemed suddenly inadequate for the deluge of affection that besieged it. I’d heard the legends whispered behind chewed-up bones: She was the spectral guardian of Saluki Sands, bound by an eternal moonlight to never leave Pawsburgh.

I approached, careful not to startle a being who clearly existed at least partly in some other, lovelier realm.

“Evening, milady,” I barked softly, switching to a more David Sedaris prose than Lassie dialogue, “May I say, you are the finest specter in all of Pawsburgh—and I’ve encountered quite a few in my romps around Amber Akita Alley.”

She looked up, her eyes glittering with the mystery of night. “Why thank you, kind sir. You seem… corporeal, if I might note.”

“Indeed, quite solid, though my heart’s currently hopping around like a bag of squirrels.” My words tumbled—a puppy’s gaiety in the jaws of a seasoned wooer.

The exchange was surreal—a romantic tussle under a moonlit chandelier. I had never been in a paranormal romance, but I was determined not to let that hinder the natural charm that comes with such an illustrious coat and a tail that could fan the flames of any love.

“Do you come to Fido’s Feast often?” I asked, bravely nudging the Mickey Mouse toy toward her.

“I do,” whispered Princess, eyeing Mickey with a spectral fondness. “It’s the only place where a dish of ‘Apparitional Appetizer’ can make a ghost feel less… ethereal.”

“Speaking of food,” I confided, “I’d rather chase my tail until I’m a canine tornado than eat a vegetable.”

Her laughter pealed like silver bells, a sound that made you wonder if indeed spirits could experience joy—and if so, could they teach it to creatures of fur and frolic?

“If you must know,” she purred, “I had a similar distaste for… vacuums.” Her form shimmered with shared aversion.

We connected then, united in our eccentricities, as invisible strings of kinship wove around us. We exchanged stories; I told her of the dog park, and how Miss Fifi once convinced us all to form a chorus line, and Spike’s epic fail at a stealthy approach in a game of hide-and-seek.

She, in turn, regaled me of her spectral escapades, of scaring the bejesus out of superstitious Chihuahuas and reigning over the ghostly galas at Saluki Sands.

Time, the fickle tick-tocking fiend, gnawed at our encounter. As the first hint of dawn approached, Princess stood, her presence beginning to fade.

“Wait,” I whimpered. “Will I see you again?”

With a smile that could warm the coldest nose, she promised, “Each twilight, by the pier.”

And just like that, as the sky blushed at the arrival of morning, she was gone, leaving behind the glow of an unexpected romance and the taste of extraordinary in the life of a Golden Retriever named Charlie.

The End.