Hey Mom,

I hope you’re well! It turns out I’m the resident good boy in training here in Spencerville, helping at the bakery and gym, and even providing a shoulder to lean on at Golden Gate Gardens. Who knew I’d trade hot dog chases for some actual good deeds? I’m on the path to becoming top dog—quite the twist for this scrappy pitbull, eh? More tail wagging tales to come.

Hugs and head pats,
Bubba/Ryder 😊🐾

I stood upon the sandy stretch of Brindle Brown Boxer Beach, the sea air tousling what some consider a bold artwork of red patches upon my coat, and pondered the absurd notion that here, in Spencerville, where I had landed squarely after my final, less than graceful, earthly bow, I was to become a better dog. A ponderous and, it must be said, a slightly preposterous task given my already well-established virtue.

As I trod the shoreline, my thoughts wandered, as they often do, to the brimming hot dog stands that graced the corners of Kibble Cuisine. These establishments held an allure as irresistible to myself as one might find in the company of a particularly engaging Labrador at Retriever River. But no, reformation was at paw. No more gluttonous delights or idle nuzzling; I had to be about my business, betterment awaited.

My sibling in escapade, Alli, accompanied my stride, her boxer’s enigma matched only by her curiosity at our new venture.

“What’s the first step, then?” she inquired with a tilt of her head, her mask like a permanent disguise for her otherwise open book of emotions.

“We do good, Alli,” I replied. “Simple as it sounds. We extend our paws and render our services to the greater cause.”

We set off from the beach, leaving trails of paw prints, a testament to our newfound quest. Our first noble deed took us to the Woofy Bakery, where scents of freshly baked dog biscuits could nearly reroute any well-meaning canine’s intentions. Begrudgingly, we resisted temptation and offered our services.

Mrs. Poodlesby, the bakery’s proprietor and a fluff of high spirit and flour-strewn fur, was in dire need of assistance. A mountain of biscuit orders and nary a paw to help, she welcomed our offer with yips of delight. We worked alongside her, packaging biscuits and tossing only the occasional one into our mouths – when they were, of course, intolerably misshapen and unfit for customer eyes.

Amid our benevolence and Mrs. Poodlesby’s delighted chortles, something prickly edged into my conscience. Could it be? Guilt? For a simple indulgence such as a misshapen biscuit? A little voice, perhaps the waking of greater morals, cautioned me, “There’s a better dog in you yet, Ryder. Patience.”

After the bakery, Alli and I headed to the Woof and Whisker Wellness Center. It was time to address matters of health. True, well-being had never been a concern of mine; my physique spoke of strength and a healthy indulgence in hot dogs. But in Spencerville, what you were is not what you are. Helping those who struggled to lift the weights or tread the mill became our afternoon exertion.

Come evening, Alli and I found ourselves in Golden Gate Gardens, a haven of greenery where dogs of all sizes and fancies took respite. There I met a young cocker spaniel, forlorn in disposition, unable to reconcile with the noise of the new existence.

“To fear is normal,” I reassured her, digging from the depths of my newfound empathy, “but to conquer it, now, that is the stuff of splendid dogs.”

In the episodic life of this noble pitbull, this day closed like any other – with sounds of distant laughter from the Sniff ‘n’ Snack, and an introspection that surprised even myself. I pondered change, the shaping of habits, and the forging of canine character. The pursuit of betterment, a dangling carrot before my all too mortal snout, and the realization that perhaps in Spencerville, in the company of Alli and new-found friends, I could be a most darling version of myself.

Well, that’s if I could resist the next hot dog stand for just one day more.

The End.