Hey Mom,

Just wrapped up another crazy day at The Grand Beagle Inn—our luxe hotel run entirely by dogs! From organizing inspection day with Madame Truffington, the super picky poodle, to ensuring Gus, Reo, and the gang had everything perfect, it was non-stop paws-on action. And guess what? We aced it! 🌟

Love you,
Baby Girl

Ah, what a day in Spencerville to start another adventure at The Grand Beagle Inn! Yes, you heard that right—an opulent European-style hotel run entirely by dogs. A place where the scent of freshly baked biscuits mingles elegantly with the gentle hubbub of paws skittering across polished marble floors.

Morning at Upper Black Bulldog Bay began as it always did: with a sense of anticipation. The dew clung to the grass, and I could hear Gus howling out his morning announcements from across Labradoodle Lake. I trotted into the ballroom just as Zenith, in all her Labrador grace, sounded the breakfast gong. Today wasn’t just any day—it was inspection day.

“Is the Pooch Playhouse ready?” I called out to Reo, my little Chihuahua friend with a spirit that could rival a Saint Bernard.

“Oh, Daphne, it’s impeccable! Though I had to shoo Pruny away from the velvet curtains. Something about their sheen makes her think they’re edible,” Reo quipped, his tiny paws settling perfectly into the director’s chair—once reserved for a human but now befitting his distinguished air.

“Splendid!” I barked, my copper eyes shining as I caught sight of Bonzi and Raffa bounding down the grand staircase. They were forever in sync, making dramatic entrances worthy of an ovation. Today, however, was all about the details.

As head of operations, I felt the beads of mischief and warmth that twinkled in my eyes translate into an added bounce to my step. Yes, part of me wanted to dive into the plushest blanket at the Paws-A-Latte, but duty called.

I made my way to the front desk where Maggie and Jasper were engaged in a charming tête-à-tête—something about green beans being superior to carrots in the snack department.

“Inspection day, team!” I barked, speaking with the authority bestowed to me by virtue of my Beagle stubbornness and a ribbon won at the Pawsitively Purrfect Pet Store’s annual self-snuggling championship.

We all knew what inspection day meant: a visit from Madame Truffington, the regal poodle inspector known for her discerning eye and impeccable taste. One hair out of place in Boxer Beach’s sun lounge or a slight delay at the Pup ‘n’ Go Taco Joint, and her reviews could be ruthless. Not that it deterred our spirits—not one bit!

Maggie waved her tail in acknowledgment and whispered something to Jasper before they both set off to ensure every doggy nook and cranny met our legendary standards.

I padded towards the spa section, passing Raffa, who was ensuring his beloved chew toys were perfectly spaced in the lobby—after all, presentation was key. My nose twitched as I caught a hint of lavender from the Spa for Paws. The calming scent was delightful but, at the back of my mind, was the constant reminder: pools and I simply do not mix. Braving the spa territory was purely for professional reasons. Professional here implying they had my favorite brand of carrot treats.

Bounding away from potentially awkward encounters with spa-goers convinced they’d ‘improve’ my ears, I funneled my energy towards the confectionary charms of Bow Wow Bistro. My stomach rumbled imperially. By the scent wafting around, fresh doggy croissants were in the making.

Inside the bistro, Gus appeared, sporting a napkin tucked into his collar, a prelude to brunching with Bonzi and Zenith. “Ready for inspection?” he teased, twirling his whiskers.

“Expect nothing less than excellence,” I wagged, eyes darting toward the queue forming across the counter—buttery biscuits seemed to have that spellbinding effect.

Hours flew by in a whirlwind—orders, snuggles, checks—and everything in between. When Madame Truffington finally arrived, the flair she brought with her overshadowed even our grandest chandelier. As she delicately sniffed her way through the grand entrance and majestically padded around our set-up, there was a hopeful silence.

“Simply fabulous, dears,” she announced, her voice an orchestra of approval. Relief and pride flooded through me, a tempest of joy shared by every wagging tail under the Grand Beagle Inn’s roof.

Later, as the stars began their twinkling dance over Boxer Beach, I nestled deep into a blanket beside the main fireplace. My congenial exhaustion sang a song familiar to every guardian of Spencerville. One day our owners would join our realm of boundless comfort, but for now, we lived grandly, adventurously, infinitely. And, oh, my friends—for today, we excelled.

The End.