“Hey mom-and-dad, having a tail-wagging time in this story, sniffing out mysteries, fetching adventures, and spreading doggy-love all around. Catch you guys soon. Woofs and licks, Fenny 🐾”

Well, ain’t life just a squeaky toy, a thing made for gnawing and throwing about and occasionally losing under the couch. Now hold onto your leashes, I’m about to tell you about one heck of a day.

Despite the general consensus, Spencerville didn’t just run on a bunch of hard rules printed on amber-colored paper that the Council rambled on about. It was guided more by a staunch tradition of neighborly jibes and shared smiles. A place where the famed duo of Greta, the stern librarian, and me, Fenway, yours truly, could cause a ruckus.

It all started that fateful Tuesday, when Greta, in her usual severe librarian get-up, equipped with sharp glasses that shrieked ‘I-have-read-more-books-than-you’, was late for our daily walk. She’s got eins, zwei, drei, oh so many clocks, but just can’t manage her time. Hoomans, I tell ya!

Just as I was about to give up, there she was, frantically adjusting those darn glasses she barely needed, muttering apologies to me, someone who doesn’t understand a word of hooman. But that’s where our dear postman Jude comes into play. With his signature goofy grin that reached his ears, and never without his red hat – he calls it his lucky charm.

Greta once told me Jude was ‘one lousy postman.’ But the charm of it was, he was our lousy postman. Now, from what I’ve gathered – he’d been wagging his tail for Greta for quite a while. But he was as adept at expressing his feelings as I was at solving quadratic equations.

There we were, in the park later that day, me and Greta, when Jude came sauntering over, his grin in tow. Before I knew it, he tripped over his own feet, a slew of letters fluttering around him. A regular mail shower. If I were a betting dog, I’d wager five to one he did it on purpose.

Did Greta the stern librarian laugh? No. She stooped down, helped him collect the scattered letters – not even flinching when one had some questionable stain that suspiciously resembled my slobber – and handed them back with a placid smile. That’s my Greta – socially awkward, but the damn sweetest hooman to have ever existed.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Jude blush a deeper hue of red than his hat, which I’m sure doubled up as a potato at times. Patting his shoulder good-naturedly, she walked away, missing the affectionate look he shot her way.

But boy, when she turned around later to find him holding out her favorite rhubarb pie, I saw something in her eyes – a flicker of something warm. Confusion? Dread? No… it was the unmistakable hint of cherishing. I might just be a dog, but I know the course of true love when I sniff it.

They say every dog has his day. Mine, probably, was seeing those two lovebirds finally fumbling their way around dating. As for Spencerville? Well, it continued to buzz with life, perfectly at peace with its unique dynamics.