Hey fam!

Just a quick tail-wag from Spencerville, the canine slice of heaven! I’ve met a sassy Pomeranian, Bella, and we’re the hot gossip at the dog park. Sure, we’re like oil and water sometimes, but we stick together like peanut butter – inseparable and loving every quirky moment. Miss you all, but Bella’s making this endless game of fetch a zany adventure. Life’s a zigzag of joy! 🐾

Catch you on the sunny side,

Curley 🐕

Okay, so picture this: I’m Curley, and Spencerville is my stage. This is like, the Beverly Hills for us post-earthly pets, and let me tell you, it’s paw-sitively fabulous. I’ve got my standard Keeshond good looks, the kind that makes the other dogs go ‘woof’, if you know what I mean. And I’ve got a tail that just won’t quit. Even here, in this doggy utopia, a dashing chap like me is on the lookout for love. And boy, does it come with its quirks.

It’s your typical Tuesday in Spencerville. I’m strolling down to Pup-Tizers, savoring the feel of the wind through my plush coat. That’s when I see her – a Pomeranian with a bounce in her step and a spark in her eye that could light up the fetch field. Enter Bella, the feistiest furball this side of Golden Retriever River. She’s part diva, part sweetheart, and all kinds of adorable. My heart does a somersault—I mean, a canine can do that emotionally, right?

We literally bump into each other because we’re both absolutely clumsy. Her tail is going a mile a minute, and she’s apologizing in a high-pitched voice that’s cuter than a puppy yawning. I’m tail over paws, but cool, suave, collected. I’ve got this. I’m Curley, the protector, the big-hearted adventurer.

“Never seen you around Pawsome Pancakes,” I remark, hoping she’s the brunch-every-day type.

“I prefer Whiskers and Wings,” she giggles, doing this little nose twitch that I’m pretty sure has some kind of hypnotic effect on me.

And it’s not just puppy love, oh no. We clash like kibble and fine china. I’m all about chasing racquetballs and she’s into leisurely grooming sessions at The Barking Boutique. She brings me to the art gallery, and I’m trying not to sneeze at the dander stirred up by the paintings.

Who knew you could find an allergy in paradise?

But here’s the kicker: I find out she adores tomatoes—she could eat them all day. And you know my feelings on those red things of doom. Let’s just agree to disagree, or in my case, agree to run away when I see them. And yet, something about her makes me sit still—something about her makes me want to be her knight in shining armor, even if it comes with a side of tomato.

Every time I see her, my fur stands on high alert. Sure, it could be the static from the 24/7 sunshine we get here or, just maybe, it’s the buzz of love. Our misadventures become stories whispered across the dog park, how the brave Keeshond and the sassy Pomeranian are figuring it all out, obstacle by hilarious obstacle.

We’re inseparable—it’s like we’re stuck together with peanut butter, and neither of us is complaining.

Our days are spent arguing over the best spot to nap in the sun and competing over who can dig the best hole in the backyard. We’re living the dream, belly rubs and all. She nags me about my independent streak—tells me I’m rogue for a canine, but she digs it.

Underneath the laughs and the teasing, I’ve got to say, I still miss the fam. Every wagging tale here does. But knowing they’ll join us someday makes the waiting easier. Plus, with Bella by my side, turning each day into a scene from the most delightfully mixed-up rom-com you could imagine, the wait feels a little less long.

And just like that, the tale of Curley continues—less of a straight line, more of a squiggly zigzag—but squiggles can be fun. So long as there’s a ball to chase, a Pomeranian to woo, and a no-tomato zone, out here in Spencerville, I’m your dog, diving snout first into every new anecdote of romance and comedy.

The End.