Hey Mom,

Gotta bark quick – I’m the unofficial robin hood of chew toys here in the rainbow-tinted Spencerville. Dodged another bath like a ninja, showed a pack of yappy pups some old dog tricks, and even if the ‘Good Pet’ badge is still a work-in-dogress, my tail’s wagging more than ever! You’d be proud. Turns out, even in the afterlife, I’m quite the tail-wagger. Sending sniffs and licks!

Stay pawsome,
Lil Dot (a.k.a. Diva 🐾)

I bounced my way through the colorful alleyways of Spencerville, the sun casting a glow over the Golden Retriever River that made it look as if it were brimming with liquid gold. This corner of the afterlife, tailored for the likes of me and my fellow four-legged comrades, was as bustling as a flea market on a sunny day, albeit with more tail-waggings and treat munchings.

Call me Lil Dot. I’m no saint, I’ll tell you that. Good as the bones buried under the weeping willows, but a touch scrappy ’round the edges, like a well-loved chew toy. Spencerville was my shot at getting better, polishing those ruff edges. “The Good Pet” they call it, though it’s more of a juicy bone to aspire to than a title to wear.

Each day I trotted to The Bark Shak, where the menu was a smorgasbord of indulgences. There, sitting by the counter, I pondered the complexities of afterlife improvement. Being a bulldog of action more than contemplation, I found the whole concept a tad bit amusing—as if one could chase their own tail to become better.

Ah, but chase I did, figuratively speaking. It started with a mischievous caper at Fetch! Toys and Treats, where I, with a touch of cunning, orchestrated a redistribution of chew toys to those less fortunate pups who had lost their favorite squeakers beyond the Rainbow Bridge.

“Lil, you’re a marvel,” praised Zelda, a Poodle mix with eyes that sparkled like morning dew, “Even Bandit never haggled a discount on those rubber chickens as you just did.”

I couldn’t help but puff my chest out slightly. Mischief and good deeds danced a trilling waltz in my heart, and I was the prima ballerina.

Next on my mission of self-betterment was tackling The Bath Dilemma. How could such an avenger of goodness as I harbor such resentment for cleansing suds? With a grumble, I plunged paws-first into the foamy depths of Dog-gone Good BBQ’s kitchen sink, much to the bug-eyed wonder of onlookers. If cleanliness is next to dogliness, then I, Lil Dot, would be a pristine pooch par excellence.

Social graces with the young? Not my specialty, I assure you, though not for want of trying. I’ve observed patience is a learned skill, much like perfecting the art of digging without leaving a telltale mound of dirt. Yet, paired with my confidants Spencer and Fenway, I aimed to refine my approach to rambunctious little beings.

“There now, steady, Lil,” Spencer, a wise old Beagle, would counsel as a gaggle of giggling ghost-pups approached. “Deep breaths, now.”

Fenway, a Labrador with a tongue that was a perpetual invitation to play, added, “Just think of ’em as squirrels that giggle. Chase, but don’t catch!”

And so, I soldier my way through daily frolics with a pack of miniatures, my patience not entirely a whisker thin anymore, but perhaps closer to a decent-sized twig.

These chronicles of mine, strewn across Spencerville, resonate with the spirit of adventure and a hint of enlightenment. In trying to become a “Good Pet” I’ve mixed in a dash of that legendary stubbornness with an ample splash of my good nature.

I leave you with this: perfection is a flea’s jump beyond my grasp, yet the pursuit itself is enough to make my tail wag. It’s the journey, not the destination, they say, and if there’s a bone to bury in the yard of this peculiar, delightful afterlife, I’ll be the first to dig it up with aplomb.

And so, with a wag and a smile, I roam Spencerville—a little dot with a sizable trail.

The End.