Hey there!

Just spent a wild day becoming the gentleman I never knew I wanted to be. Turns out, restraint at Donut Doggy is as tough as the sit command at Pawfect Training. But truth be told, it’s the little strides with Rosie by my side under Harper’s tree that make it all worthwhile. Who knew betterment could taste as sweet as Bella’s hovering temptation? Catch you on the flip side of another Spencerville sunrise!

Wags and woofs,
Jax 🐾

Listen to the story here

Well now, let me acquaint you with another ordinary day in Spencerville, if such a term could ever rightly apply to a town as spirited as this one, where the dogs walk on two legs and the cats, well, they do too when they’re of a mind.

The day commenced with the sunrise piercing through the flowering branches of Spencerville, tinging the world with gold. I, Jackson – blue-eyed and sharp as a tack – arose with a vigor that seemed impossible to contain. The Thompsons, bless their souls, weren’t to be seen no more, but Rosie and I, we had a day full of antics ahead.

We trotted down to Brindle Brown Boxer Beach, where the sun shone like it had a particular favor to bestow upon the sands just there. Buster was already there, lounging like a king, dispensing words as though they were treasures, “Jackson, my boy, the key to a satisfied heart is to chase the waves, not the sticks.”

I barked a laugh, the wind catching it and tossing it about like the leaves I chased in autumns past. “Buster, you old philosopher, if I followed that advice, why, I’d never have the joy of the chase!”

With that, I bounded into the surf, yipping a challenge to Rosie. We ain’t dogs for the water like some, but that day the salt and froth could’ve been mistaken for the fields we’d run through. Our barks were like a song, harmonizing with the slap and rush of each wave.

Dry and panting, we later ventured to Doggy Donuts where I sought to improve my, let’s say, less than perfect manners. You see, a gentleman must conduct himself with dignity even when faced with the most delectable of pastries and the aroma of fresh dough. Bella was there, hovering like a hummingbird, “Jackson, imagine the donuts to be like Sir Harper’s apples, always there but best enjoyed with a touch of restraint.”

“Restraint? Ha! An apple falls when it’s good and ready, and so does a donut into my belly,” I replied, though in truth I aimed to be genteel.

The day marched on, a procession of moments both comical and sweet. In the afternoon, Rosie and I, wishing to expand our horizons beyond the epicurean delights, ambled to The Pawfect Training Center. “Mind over matter, Jackson,” Rosie encouraged with a wink as bright as her coat, for I was never one for rolling over without a good reason – usually involving cheese or chicken, but not today.

As I endeavored to unravel the mysteries of a proper sit and an elegant stay, I couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. For am I not a creature of boundless sagacity? Ha! To engage in the art of being better was an unexpected biscuit from life’s pantry, and I nibbled on it with gusto.

With the day waning, and shadows stretching long like stories around a fire, Rosie and I found solace beneath Mr. Harper’s apple tree, where the notion of ‘better’ seemed a distant thing in the comfort of each other’s companionship. “To be better,” I mused aloud, “Is to be the dog we’re meant to be, side by side with friends, ain’t that right, Rosie?”

Her bark, akin to a laugh, agreed wholeheartedly.

We laid there, the earth beneath us holding its breath, as if in anticipation of tomorrow’s endeavors. And as the stars began to twinkle, whispers of dreams yet to hatch, I settled into the belief that here in Spencerville, we weren’t just waiting; we were becoming, each and every day a step closer to the best version of ourselves, waiting for our beloveds beyond the veil. And with that thought, sweet as the scent of Mr. Harper’s apples, I closed my eyes with a wagging tail.

The End.