Hey Dad,

Made it through the weird whirlwind of The Pet Bachelor and let me tell ya, not a single pooch there held a candle to our every day frolics. Those showy tails had nothing on our old-fashioned muddy paws! In the end, I chose the simple life over the sparkle. Coming home to roll in the grass and snuggle at your feet – that’s the real prize. See you soon, old man.

Russell 🐾🏡

Listen to the story here

The peculiar business of love had always seemed to me a sort of raffle. I, Russell of the brindle coat and stocky cachet, never imagined that this sordid affair would have me in its motley cast. I’ve stood firm against the charms of Spencerville’s bachelorettes, my stout heart tethered only to the memory of my dad. Yet here I am, the fetching cynosure of The Pet Bachelor, bemused by the premise that my affections could be won over in episodes.

Paws-A-Latte was abuzz with talk of my sought-after singlehood, the very thought setting the local tongues to wagging as if they were little tails of their own. My mornings were whisked and frothed like the lattes they served, the ladies flitting around me in earnest, each hoping to capture more than a passing glance.

Mornings slipped into afternoons, which were well spent at The Fetching Deli, where I nibbled on gourmet treats, staunchly passing up the chance to bolt down that dreaded fast food. The company was enjoyable with its variety of flavors. Yet still, it was Mugsy’s silent company I yearned for—his plush complexion never failing to offer the deepest consultations over my suitresses’ tête-à-têtes.

Tender-hearted Molly, with her Golden Retriever locks that shimmered like dawn, had an exuberance that was almost tempting. Then there’s Princess, the Pomeranian, whose poise could make even the nobles of Western Husky Hill howl with envy. And I dare not forget Bella, the Beagle, whose howls could weave the most melancholic of blues.

But could any of them understand my fear of the roaring vacuum, or my disdain for the wiles of the wet ear-cleaning, or the nostalgia that gripped me under the golden sun, recalling the days with my dad? Could they indulge in chasing the Frisbee with the same fervent passion, or was it merely the game of chase they loved?

As sunsets painted Spencerville with hues only seen in the Eastern White Westie Woods, they brought me to contemplation. The thrills of tug-of-war paled under the stars, for what is a game to a heart seeking understanding?

My days in the contest felt akin to the soap operas played out in Pupperoni Pizza, where drama unfolded with each slice served. Despite the fawning and flattery, I must admit the experience tickled my fancy no more than the ocean did my toes. I longed for something sturdy like my Mugsy, not the seasonal flings that blow through Lower Dalmatian Desert.

Tonight, amidst the chandeliers and ornate trim of The Barking Boutique, I would make my choice. The air breathed perfumes as if The Dapper Dog Salon had outdone itself. I looked upon my admirers, my heart tugging me homeward. In the end, it wasn’t the pomp and show of The Pet Bachelor that tugged at my leash—it was love, but the simple, untethered love of a dad and his bulldog, waiting at the gates of Spencerville for a reunion unperturbed.

As the credits rolled and the cameras ceased their intrusive glare, I knew my choice was never in Spencerville. The grand prize was not to be found in the glittering collars or the sullied pride of victory. It is the promise of my days rolling in the grass, my nights curled at my dad’s feet — this is my rose, my final, steadfast choice.

The End.