Hey Dad,

Just conquered the Puddle at Precipitation Plaza today! I stared down my nemesis, braved the water with a splash, & emerged a hero. Spencerville’s got a new legend, and it’s a wet-nosed Bulldog. Who knew, right? Here’s to belly rubs & bravery. 🐾

Cheers,
Bubs

Listen to the story here

Ah, gentle humans and fellow four-legged friends, lend me thine floppy ears as I, Bentley, take you on a trot through the not so ordinary day in my rather extraordinary life here in Spencerville.

‘Twas a day like any other, or so one would think, as the sun clawed its way through the curtains, hurdling over the back of Tan Dalmatian Desert, and tickling my nose with its morning mirth. The kind that beckons one for a stroll down to Black Bulldog Bay. Despite the sunshine’s insistence, I tarried in bed, and for a good reason, mind you. On this particular day, I was of great resolve to overcome – dare I say, ‘conquer’ – my greatest foe: The Puddle at Precipitation Plaza.

If you are acquainted with me, as I imagine you might be, you’d know my aversion to that wretched element – water, the liquid nuisance. Yet here I was, emboldened perhaps by the spirit wafting through the streets of Spencerville, or maybe just because my dear dad decided it was high time I learned to become at least acquaintances, if not friendlies, with it.

We ambled past The Fetching Deli, the fragrances of canine cuisine flirting with my nostrils. But a Bulldog possessed of newfound purpose does not falter for the call of breakfast; not even the siren song of a bacon-topped pupcake could sway me.

“Not today, savory temptress,” I woofed under my breath, my eyes staunchly set on the horizon.

Fat Russell wiggled his way towards me, tongue lolling with the expectation of a playdate at the park. I paused; a Bulldog’s word is his bond and denying a pal seemed a gross misdeed. Yet, I knew what I had set out to do and with a heavy heart, I imparted the wisdom of my current quest.

“Must… face… the water,” I panted with all the gravitas of a knight errant.

Russell, though perplexed, wagged in solidarity before darting off to what I imagined would be an epic session of frisbee chasing. His antics would be sung about later at Bow Wow Bistro by some overzealous Spaniel, no doubt.

At long last, there it was, the Puddle; my psyche’s unyielding Goliath. Its ripples mocked me, beckoning with a sheen only a body of water could possess. Dad, sensing the monumental moment, coaxed me with whispers of encouragement, his tone undeniably Guest-esque in its quirk.

“You can do this, Bentley. It’s just a small splash,” he said, his hand offering a pat that was not only felt but also heard in my courageous Bulldog heart.

“Right,” I spoke to my reflection on the water’s glassy surface, “just a temporary inconvenience for a lifelong badge of honor.”

Taking the proverbial bull by the horns — or should I say Bulldog by the jowls — I approached the edge. One paw tentatively made acquaintance with the liquid adversary, followed by another. And then it happened.

The world did not end, nor did I dissolve into the abyss. Instead, a laugh bubbled up from my throat, a sound I had never heard myself make, mirrored by my dad’s hearty guffaws. I splashed, I frolicked, and – dare I say it – I reveled.

Now, I won’t exaggerate and claim to have taken to swimming like a Labrador to a lake, but something inside me felt unshackled. They might say it’s a puddle too minor to note, but for me, it was the ocean of change.

As the day aged and the shadows longed, I returned home, my paw prints trailing a wet path – a reminder of small victories that signal the growth of one’s spirit.

So here’s to the Bildungsroman of Bentley, gauntlets thrown by day and balls snugly lodged under chin by night. In Spencerville, the tales are tall, much like the spirits, and mine — well, I daresay it’s just taken a turn towards the legendary.

The End.