Hey Mom,

Just checking in from Spencerville. 🐾 Became a pint-sized hero, dodged some rain, led the night brigade, and my taste buds danced a tango with cheese! Missing you in every adventure. Don’t worry, I’m penning the Jasper saga with every wag. 🧀🏰✨

Hugs & head tilts,
Jasperoni 🐶

P.S. Still not into peanut butter.

Sometimes, if one listens closely in the rustling leaves of Spencerville, there’s a telltale rustle—a pocket-sized dynamo on duty. That would be me, Jasper, lining the air with dauntlessness far greater than my eleven-pound frame suggests. Spencerville is where I’ve carved out my second chapter, a tale spun in the streets paved with camaraderie and jerky treats.

It was another bustling day at Choco Chihuahua Castle—not that I lay any claim to the place, but the grandeur! One wonders what sort of majestic chocolatier pup they modeled the mouldings after. I digress. I was not here to ogle architecture; no, my mission was a lonelier venture, a sortie for the soul. To dwell on the ties that anchor one to the bygone realm of belly rubs from Mom.

I remember the first time I trundled down these cobblestone streets, my sense of wonder tingling with the vibrancy of Pug Palace off to the left. Did you know they craft a chandelier worthy of canine royalty, comprised entirely of vintage collars? Marvelous sights here, wonders to lose oneself into, but…. Oh, the hollow heartache at the joy postponed, the reunion deferred.

‘Morrow I’d be dining at Waggle n’ Wok, “A taste of the East, whipped up in haste!” as their sign boasts in curling gold script. I always smirk at the irony. Those dashes to the fire hydrant were never about haste—it was more for necessity. Oriental decor can’t unseat memories-the outdoor escapades, the mountain calls, or the car rides stirring my spirit.

Have you ever trudged to Retriever River on a day when the clouds sighed out their moist, misty exhales? Revolting, I tell you. Retriever River, mind you, with a waterlogged reputation I wholeheartedly endorse—except my kind doesn’t do the dampness and the dog-paddle.

Imagine this—the beach, trails, the joyful careen through untamed wilderness with Reo, Gus, and Alfie, our hearts light, our tails telling the stories our barks never could. The evenings now, well, they’re my realm: the guardian of shadows, a chieftain among night-watchers.

Here’s the simple truth: the flavors of life are crafted not with a single ingredient. So, not a lick of peanut butter shall ever grace this tongue of mine, but cheese—ah, the sweet, tangy tang of cheese—becomes the taste of exuberance.

Life here, it’s a tapestry indeed, each thread an escapade, each knot a companion tied to my side. But nothing comes close to the two-headed sea monster, a frolicsome ally in my vast collection of beloved contraptions. Its crinkle is the sweet music of contentment, the pitter-patter of my symphony.

Mom’s absence is the whisper on every whisker. I know. But a tale not finished has endless ways to unfold. Today, another epic unfolds—Nigel, Boomer and I plot a crusade against the tyranny of boredom. Today, my story dances on the pages of Spencerville—today, a small dog with a grand tale continues the writing of his own legend.

The End.