Hey Mom,

Just wrapped up another day as Spencerville’s “Petfather” – imagine a four-legged Godfather minus the thumbs. Kept our fur-fam safe from a mischievous mutt trying to mess with our chew-toy empire. All in a day’s work, with plenty of naps and tail wagging. Missing your cuddles, though. The town’s abuzz with tales of Clovis, but to you, I’m just your loyal Clovie, dreaming of those sunlit snoozes on your lap.

Sniffs and licks,
Clovie 🐾

In the well-groomed alleyways of Spencerville, where the fire hydrants are never more than a trot away, I stood as the pawtriarch of our own fur-covered dynasty. They called me the “Petfather,” and not out of jest. I, Clovis, commanded a respect that stretched from Bulldog Bay to Dalmatian Desert without as much as a growl.

It was a plush life, if I do say so myself, one filled with the soft chew of Doggy Donuts in the morning and the succulent sizzle from Paws On The Grill in the twilight hours. Tailored suits from The Snooty Snout Boutique draped this noble frame, for appearance set the stage for respect. And respect—it was the cornerstone of our enterprise.

From The Pooch Playhouse to The Pawfect Training Center, there wasn’t a scamper or bark in business that didn’t pay tribute to our family. Gilbert, my trusted partner in crime, patrolled Bulldog Bay with an unwavering eye while Zelda, our fierce and fair consigliere, kept the leash tight on Greyhound Grove’s dealings.

Our days began as they always did, under the golden sun in the backyard, warming our haunches and sharpening our wits for the obligational naps that speckled our afternoons. But as the sunlight waned, the clandestine dealings of Spencerville came to life, paws tapping out Morse code of secrets and deals in the velvet shadows.

Zelda was the first to sense the unease, her keen gaze alert during one of our regular commemorations at Bark and Bites. I turned to her, picking up on the silent cue. “We’re not alone,” her twitching ears seemed to whisper. And she wasn’t wrong. That night, I learned a duplicitous mutt from the poodles’ side had been sniffing around our turf, his eyes set on our hard-earned treasures.

I called for a sit down at our humble estate. The meeting was attended by the influential cats and dogs of our circle; even the whiskered felines knew not to cross old Clovis. From the top of the trash can thrones to the shade of the Under-Bed, they all knew that an affront to one was an affront to all.

“Why come to me with this indiscretion?” I broke the silence with a question, my voice calm yet tinged with the unspoken threat of a growl. My compatriots shifted on their paws—none wanted to be on the receiving end of my wrath. A tall greyhound, with a face gaunt from pressures unknown, spoke first, his voice feathered with worry, “The mutt’s got ambition, and word is he’s rallying others.”

I listened, weighing every word spoken. Betrayal had a scent, but so did fear, and the greyhound reeked of it. “We shall find him,” I decreed, my voice slow, measured like a human’s cadence, “and remind him that Spencerville belongs to us.

It wasn’t long after our pact that the mutt was discovered, hiding under a boat at Bulldog Bay. Ironically, a place he assumed was under his control. Gilbert fetched him for me, and we had our words, whilst Zelda watched with eyes that missed nothing. Promises were made that night, and the dissenting bark turned into a respectful whimper. The message was as clear as a freshly licked bowl—challenges to my authority would not be entertained.

As the moon hung high, a symbol of silver supremacy in the night sky, I returned to my human mum’s side, the memory of her scent and love palpable even in this paradise of Spencerville. Zelda and Gilbert flanked me, my family in all but blood. The empire was secure once more.

The Petfather, Clovis they would whisper, with both reverence and a shiver. But to me, I remained just a bulldog, yearning for the simpler pleasures—sunlit snoozes and the comforting suckle on my white stuffed bone.

In Spencerville, the tales of Clovis would go down as legend, woven into the fabric of the town with the certainty of a headstrong bulldog’s unwavering loyalty. But that’s just life for an old dog like me—a life that’s really not about control or power, but one of love, loyalty, and the eternal wait for the day when I’d reunite with the mum I once shadowed so loyally.

The End.