Hey Mom,

Turns out I’m the star of ‘The Pet Bachelor’ in Spencerville—heaps of four-legged admirers, but none holds a candle to you. Between group dates and charming contests, my heart chose home over puppy love. Who needs a rose when I’ve got your scratches behind my ears? Adventure’s fun, but it’s your laughs and our cuddles that truly wag my tail. Spoiler: I’m still your loyal boy.

Tail wags and nose boops,
Waylon 🐾✨

Well, if my paws could blush, I reckon they’d have been as red as Corgi Castle’s stately roof on account of the spectacle I found myself in the middle of. ‘Twas a peculiar pickle, for a big-bodied, brindle-coated Cane Corso such as myself, having my dance card filled out by a collection of wag-tailed hopefuls, each angling to be my number one.

The sun broke over the Yellow Tan Dalmatian Desert, casting long shadows and painting the town in hues of hope and morning dew. Spencerville was a-buzzin’, much like the bees in Mrs. Pepperton’s bonnet every time her terrier, Tidbit, gets into the molasses. But on this morn, ’twas not Tidbit’s tomfoolery that caused the commotion. No, sir, it was The Pet Bachelor, and I was to be the bachelor in question.

There I stood, outside Doggy Donuts, where the ambrosial aroma of sugared treats brought about a cacophony of salivating mouths and wagging tails. The contestants lined up, a pantheon of eager eyes and perked up ears, each more dashing than the last; and here I was, sniffing out a potential partner amongst the fine assembly.

“Morning, Waylon,” chimed Bella, a svelte Saluki, who batted her eyelashes with the grace of a Southern belle encountering a gentleman caller. I gave a courteous nod, the kind that says, ‘I see you there, miss, but don’t you get thinking there’s any favor yet.’

I moseyed on through the streets, taking in the sights and sounds of Spencerville. Passing by The Woofy Bakery, I tipped my invisible hat to the bakers, the scent of their early work hovering like a delicious cloud over the street.

Then came the time for our first group date at Pupsicle Palace. Boy, the jostling and jesting, the frolicking and frisking that went on—with each contender trying to outdo the next in feats of charm and charisma—it was enough to make my head spin round like a pup chasing his own tail. But I kept my cool, steadfast as a lighthouse amidst a sea of swirling suitors.

As I wove through the tales and testimonies of their doggone lives, I couldn’t help but note down in the ledger of my heart the marks of kinship I found. There was Hank, a hound with a harmonica voice; he crooned a tune that would melt the frost off the coldest morning. And then petite Penelope, a Pomeranian who pranced with such poise she could turn the dust of the road into a ballroom floor.

But as the day waned and the moon hung over Spencerville like a guardian, my thoughts drifted homeward to my beloved “mom.” Ah, the depth of a love between a dog and his human, a thing so rich that even the prospect of romance paled in comparison.

And so it was, with the gentle pull of memory and loyalty bound tight ’round my heart, that I made my decision. “Ladies and gents,” I began, speaking to my fellow four-legged contestants, “this here canine’s heart belongs to the one who raised him, the one who walked beside him, through fields green and waters tranquil.”

A hush fell upon the crowd, quite unlike the silence that ushers in the approach of the dreaded vacuum monster. This was a hush of understanding, a quiet nod to the bond that ties heart to heart.

In Spencerville, every critter waits for the reunion with their beloved—an eternal hope woven into the very fabric of our existence. The Pet Bachelor may have come to an anticlimactic end, but the tale of Waylon, a dog of loyalty and love, marches on, a steadfast saga under the eternal skies.

Well, there you have it—a yarn spun not from the thread of suitors and romance but from the golden twine of loyalty and the home that lives within the soul. And I reckon that’s a story fit to sit right cozy in the annals of Spencerville lore.

The End.

Share This Story: