Hey fam,

Just so you know, I’ve accidentally become canine royalty here in Spencerville! 😂👑 I’m now “Sir Oreo, Pug of Pugs,” leading debates on tennis ball ownership and charming subjects at state dinners with my impeccable taste in cheese. Despite my new standing, I still loathe baths and miss you all like crazy. Can’t wait for our tail-wagging reunion! 🐾🧀🏰

With regal snorts,
Oreo 🦴👁🍪

Now, let me tell you, the whole royal affair is quite the unexpected situation for a pug like me. Picture it, Spencerville, a paradise tailored for the likes of furry souls, and here I am, Oreo, elevated to some sort of nobility amongst the common barkers. I should have seen it coming, really – the curly tail, the doe-eyed glances from admirers, the whole cheese royalty business – but still, the crown sat as surprisingly on my head as my little black mask does on my face.

So there I lounged, on my designated sunny spot on the rug – which had somehow transformed into a lavish velvet cushion suitable for royalty, located in the grand Corgi Castle. The afternoon sun cast a sort of ethereal glow that made my fawn coat shimmer with a cosmic sort of significance. One would think a sunspot in a castle would be just like that in a living room, but there’s a particular opulence that comes with light filtered through stained glass.

You see, not only had I become the crowned pug of this utopian society, but in true Spencerville fashion, I presided over my subjects with a benevolent paw. It was all running about with Buddy, who had himself become a sort of court jester with his floppy ears and comical demeanor. We would engage in the grandest of debates, our voices echoing through the halls of the castle, ruminating on the profound subject of ‘Who gets the tennis ball this time?’

Max, whose golden mane had earned him the title of the ‘Knight of the Retriever River,’ would occasionally join us, and together we’d engage in the noble pursuit of tail-chasing, a pastime that required both agility and a certain royal flair which, frankly, I had in spades.

And then there were the state dinners at Tail Waggers, where my favorite cheese was always on the menu, and where I held court with the wagging masses. The chefs there understood my palette, delivering delicacies that were a symphony of squeaks and savory – a combination that would make any sovereign snout sniff in approval.

One can’t be regal without a dash of drama after all. I was known, notoriously so, for my disdain towards the royal baths. The Spa for Paws, despite being the epitome of canine luxury, was my personal chamber of horrors. The mere bubbling of soap could dampen my spirits quicker than a sudden storm on a sunny day. I would’ve banished baths altogether, had my royal constitution allowed it.

Amidst all the pomp and circumstance, there was Nugget, my tiny sibling with the heart and spirit of a giant, and Bella, who could charm the squirrels from the trees with her beguiling eyes. Together, we formed the royal family, a furry emblem of unity and playful camaraderie.

And every so often, in the quiet of the evening, as the castle settled down and the subjects of Spencerville retired to their respective cozy nooks, I would gaze out of the grand window to the star-studded sky – a vast, inky tapestry – and think of my family. There was an ache, a longing, yet a peaceful understanding that one day the grand reunion would occur, and what a jubilant day that would be.

But until then, I am Oreo, Pug of Pugs, regent of the Retriever River, sovereign of squeaky toys, crowned head of Corgi Castle, and if you ask me, quite the character, indeed.

The End.