Yo Dad, just saved Spencerville from a lonely ghost’s howl-quake! Went from bakery plans to playing the supernatural whisperer in Collie Canyon. Bravery or foolishness? Still undecided. Anyway, town’s chilling now & I’m off for a much-needed bagel bite. Stay pawsome! 🐾 – Test Dog

It was a dog-gone peculiar morning in Spencerville; even the sunrise seemed to scamper on the horizon with a tremulous unease. “What’s got into the sun?” I pondered with a scoff, my glossy mahogany coat barely stirring in the oddly stilled air as I nosed the front door open. “Perhaps it’s over-caffeinated.”

My plans were as simple as a pup’s love for a good bone – frolic through East Bulldog Bay, indulge in a pastry from The Woofy Bakery and, of course, save the universe from any rogue frisbees. A day in the life. Yet even with a routine chiselled in stone like a ‘Beware of Dog’ sign, today’s air tickled my jowls with the scent of something amiss – a whiff of terror perfectly marinated in the unknown.

I ambled down the cobblestone street, trading my usual wag for a tentative flick. Lower Dalmatian Desert was up ahead, the space typically bruised with shadows even when the sun mothered it with the fullest of beams, but as I approached, the chill sunk its teeth into my spine.

“Boo,” whispered the wind, or perhaps I just fancied it so. And for a brief moment, I fancied turning tail. But curiosity lured me onward; well, curiosity and perhaps a misplaced sense of invincibility.

“Bruno, Bella,” I barked, in a tone that suggested bravery but with a pitch that betrayed concern. No yips, no yaps, no jocular jests returned from my fellow canine compatriots – this was unusual enough to wrinkle my snout.

I meandered through the silence, convinced the oddness would pass. The Doggy Depot should have been bustling with barks and the clinking of new tags, but it was as deserted as my food bowl post-chicken feast.

Then it hit me, a cry not of this world, or at least not of this Spencerville – a sound that could make a poodle’s perm fall flat. Echoes of a ghastly howl resonated from Collie Canyon, a sound to raise the fur on even the bravest pup’s back. “Perhaps we’ve a coyote who’s sampled critique,” I jested to myself, my humor a thin veil over a pulsing heart.

As the spectral wailing ebbed and flowed, the quaint shops and eateries of our paradise for passed-on pooches faded into eerie silhouettes, their charming signs creaking like the rusty bedsprings of a ghostly mattress.

Oddly enough, the more my ears filled with these cries of the spectral, the more I felt a tightening leash of resolve about me. There were no mailman’s motorcycles to bark at today – just this supernatural mystery to unravel.

I pressed closer towards the source of the noise, each paw step a sonnet of courage and foolishness. Bruno and Bella were nowhere in sight, and as I surmised, this was not a job for a single hero; it required a pack.

At last, I reached the entrance to Collie Canyon. The once inviting path lay twisted like a discarded leash, and festooned not with flowers but creeping shadows.

“Stay,” every instinct I possessed commanded me. Yet onward I trekked, driven by the spirit of Spencerville, a town where loyalty outshines fear, and where camaraderie is thicker than the thickest steak.

And there, my friends, I confess to you; amid the darkness, I unraveled the horror, a shaggy specter of colossal size with eyes that seared the soul. It was the ghost of Dogmas past, no doubt, seeking a friend in an eternity of solitude.

So there we stood, specter and Spencerville superhero, a stand-off of silent glances. I mustered my most menacing growl, offered a bark of valor. The ghoul cocked its head, bemused or perhaps woebegone to have been seen thus nakedly.

And then – isn’t life the most bemusing stick-fetch of all? – the spirit wagged, a translucent mockery of joy no chains could tether. Slowly, with the grace of spilled kibble, it retreated into the yonder, leaving behind naught but a lingering eeriness and a newfound cold spot for a Lab to ponder over.

When the sun regained its courage and stretched back into the Spencerville sky, my friends emerged from their hiding spots, more curious than concerned.

“Test Dog,” Bella nudged with a quip only she could espouse, “have you been shadow boxing again?”

I rolled my eyes, the trademark gesture of one who’s seen beyond the veil but chooses to dine silently on the secrets. “Let me tell you about a real ‘ruff’ morning,” I started, and the tale spilled from my jowls as we trotted towards The Doggy Bagel Deli for an overdue feast – for there’s nothing like horror faced and friendship found to ready a dog’s appetite.

The End.