Hey Mom,

Just saved Spencerville from certain doom (again) at our bark-and-brunch. Brokered peace over belly rubs and hydrant rights. Also, may have hit legendary status with the pups today—storyteller extraordinaire! Reflecting on life as the top dog with my trusty duck by my side. Oscar Doodle, signing off.

🐾👑✨

Listen to the story here

Picture this—I’m Oscar, and I’m what you might call a big deal around Spencerville. I’m practically the president around these parts, though the title’s unofficial; I’ve been told I carry an air of sophistication that’s hard to ignore, even by canine standards.

It was an ordinary Tuesday, or as ordinary as it gets in Spencerville, where the drama unfolds with the rhythmic trotting of four-legged policymakers. Let me drag you through a day in my life—figuratively, of course. I never drag. It’s unseemly.

This particular morning started with a sunrise over Western Labradoodle Lake. I watched the colors burst and shimmer on the water’s surface, which was something like contemplating the complexities of international relations in the pet world—mesmerizing, yet ponderous.

I had a busy agenda. There was a bark-and-brunch summit at Paws On The Grill, where we were to discuss the peace treaty between the Mailman Union and the Neighborhood Watchdogs. Truce talks always made me peckish, and theirs were the only chicken grills I could stomach before noon.

With my rubber duck tucked firmly under my paw for moral support, I trotted down the cobblestone streets toward town square. That gleaming hunk of yellow rubber had seen me through more negotiations than my aide-de-tail Max, and that’s saying something.

Max’s ears perked up as I approached. “Big day today, O,” he said, using my favorite moniker. His tail whipped back and forth in a semaphore that clearly spelled anticipation. Security detail’s always a little on edge when the stakes are dog treats and belly rubs.

Bella, with her glossy coat catching the morning light, gave me an encouraging smile. “You’ve got this, Oscar. Who knows the ins and outs of Spencerville better than you?”

She had a point. My paws practically paved these streets. Town Square was my stomping ground. It’s where I became the hound I am today—a thinker, a doer, a sniffer of unworthy apples.

A gaggle of pups ran up to me, tails wagging for story time. “Tell us again how you solved the Great Frisbee Shortage of ’08!” they chirped.

I indulged them with the tale, pausing for dramatic effect as I recounted the airlift of a thousand frisbees into Spencerville, rescuing us from the brink of recreational disaster. What can I say? I have a knack for heroics and a flair for narration.

But down to today’s issues at paw. At the bark-and-brunch summit, I eyed the opposing sides—one looking like they had been chased by a vacuum cleaner, the other trying to maintain a façade of indifference. “Gentlepups,” I began, “This town square isn’t big enough for the two of you to continue this turf war.”

After considerable debate, punctuated with the occasional growl, we brokered a deal. Belly rubs were promised, fire hydrant territories agreed upon. It was a victory worthy of a wagging parade.

That done, I swung by The Snooty Snout Boutique for a quick glance at my reflection, ensuring my fur’s sheen was set to stun. Mirrors have a way of reminding you that you’re more than just a brain with a snout; you’re a look, you’re a charm, you’re—quite simply—a vibe.

With a hint of modesty as my afternoon cologne, I sashayed back to the warmth of my favorite sunny spot by the fountain. I closed my eyes, my squeaky duck nuzzled in the curve of my belly, and allowed myself a well-earned nap, dreaming of a Spencerville where chicken grills never ended and apples stayed forever buried.

So, there you have it—a day in my life, a scratch behind the ear of the legend that is Spencerville. As for me, I’ll keep these sidewalks warm beckoning the day when my beloved humans join me in this nearly perfect place. Until then, I’ll govern with a gentle paw and a nose for diplomacy.

Oscar out.

The End.