Hey Grammy,

Fought a spooky mist full of mewing ghosts with nothing but my wits and a love for peanut butter courage. All bark, plenty of bite. Hugged the shadows, wagged at fear. Turns out the greatest fetch is chasing away one’s own scary tales. Who knew?

Paws and kisses,
Fatty R. 🐾😁👻

I’ve never been one for the horror genre—not in films or in bones—but there I was, in the heart of Spencerville, squaring off against a spectacle so bizarre, it’d make a cat raise a suspicious eyebrow. It all began on an overcast day that made Labradoodle Lake look as gruff as a pugnacious terrier.

‘Course, my days usually brim with the mundane—chasing my tennis ball with the verve of a court jester, partaking in the culinary delights of The Barkery, or simply sprawling across my front lawn. Normalcy was my closest pal, and I can’t say I ever longed for more. That is, until the mist rolled in.

Yes, mist. The sort that seems all ethereal and whatnot, like it’s straight out of a silent movie from the ‘20s. It crept around Upper Black Bulldog Bay, where the water’s as dark as my own fetching coat. But this mist—it was peculiar—not the kind you’d find at Fawn Cream Maltese Meadow, that’s for sure.

It whispered through Spencerville, sparing no corner, from Whiskers and Wings to Paws-A-Latte. And that’s not just for dramatic effect; this stuff actually whispered. Little did I know, it came with stories. Stories nobody particularly wanted to hear.

I was trotting back from The Woofy Bakery with a baguette-sized treat when I first heard it—a hollow voice, a lilting dialect that echoed within my mind. “Russell,” it murmured, which is rather rude as I hadn’t given it my name.

“Join us,” the voice coaxed. “Come into the shroud of the unknown, where tails no longer wag and the chew toys are just out of reach.”

At first, a giggle bubbled up inside me—I mean, what kind of Tomfoolery was this? But then, the mist thickened around my paws, and the air chilled. This was no laughing matter; this felt genuinely hairy. “Who’s there?” I barked in my most assertive growl—yet it felt like barking up the wrong proverbial tree.

“You know us, portly one,” another voice joined the eerie concourse, echoing against the unseen walls of the mist. “We are the Unplayed, the forgotten toys beneath the porch, the lost treats beneath the couch.”

That’s when I understood. Spooky specters? No—this was a reunion of disregarded joys, a haunt of past pleasures that had slipped through my jowls. I’ve always been more inclined to love than to oppose, but in this moment, I felt a chill run down my stout spine.

Would they be only memories, or were these things of a more spirited nature? The vacuum, my arch-nemesis, roared in the distance, its fiendish whine a comfort compared to the shapeless dread I now faced. I wanted to run to Grandma, to burrow into her lap and hide my eyes—she’d know what to do with phantoms of dread. Or at least, she’d sneak me a treat until my courage returned.

I rallied my fortitude and the remembrance of friends—Fenway, Wrigley, Millie, and Spencer—whose valiant spirits I felt in my heart. With the valor of a pooch much mightier than my modest build, I confronted the mist: “I may waddle more than run, and my bark may be worse than my bite, but this bulldog’s mettle is as steadfast as my love for peanut butter!”

Spencerville’s whispers fell silent. Expectation was as thick as the cream on a puppuccino. The mist receded—reluctantly, like a slow drain—and with it, the voices ebbed away, the specters of doghood past slipping back into the realm of memories.

As Spencerville’s sunshine pierced through once again, I realized that sometimes a touch of the supernatural is just what you need to appreciate the simple pleasures—like the sunshine on your belly or the satisfying squish of a well-chewed toy. Next time though, I might opt for a more comedic interlude—horror is quite taxing on the nerves.

One thing’s fur sure: whether it’s in the meadows of mirth or the bays of the beyond, I’ll wag on with stories to share, because even when the shadows loom, I’m Fat Russell—heart courageous, tail ever wagging.

The End.

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