Hey Mom,

Had a pretty wild day at the office! As the Chief Morale Officer, I led the team through strategic treat talks, investigated a stapler heist, and navigated the drama of unsqueaked squeaky toys. We even managed to squeeze in a debate about the next playdate spot. Just your typical day in the life of a hairless luminary in Spencerville!

Catch you later,

Jo 🐾

Listen to the story here

Episode the First: The Arrival of a Hairless Luminary

Ah, Spencerville; where the skies sing in hues of mauve and the clouds are as fluffy as the beds we lounge upon. I, Mojo, a canine of discernible taste and bare skin, have found myself amidst the comfortable hum of office life, for what is a town without a place for pets to congregate in pursuit of purpose? The Paws and Claws Consortium, it’s called—a place of business unlike any other, thriving under the diligent supervision of quadrupeds of all breeds.

Today marks the inaugural convening of the ‘Productivity Enhancement Committee,’ a newly established endeavor to add zest to our exceptional yet routine existence. Cloistered in what we affectionately dub ‘The Litter Box’, a conference room as cozy as a snuggled lap, my comrades and I, armed with treats and chew toys, toil away. I find my position as ‘Chief Morale Officer’ rather fitting, for my crooked gait and soulful eyes are well suited to inspire.

Cinematographic enchantment pervades our space, witty professionals of fur and paw captured in the candid glory of their daily toils.

“Mr. Whiskers, do divulge to us the intricacies of your latest mail sortation strategy,” I humbly inquire, tail waving an amiable semaphore.

The feline, as aloof as ever, flashes a glance momentarily before the art of ignoration, a skill he has mastered to the vexation of us all.

Interrupting our strategic deliberations, in bounds a sprightly Beagle, attache casually drooping from his maw: “Have you fellas heard? Tail Waggers is offering half-off on ‘Pup-ccinos’ at the break of noon!”

A rousing cheer ensues from the collective members of our assembly, productivity momentarily thwarted by the siren call of caffeinated concoction. Ah, but what is life if one cannot pause to relish a frothy delight…

Momentarily, we return to our meeting’s agenda, focusing on the grievous matter of the missing stapler—a scurrilous disappearance that has marred the otherwise placid atmosphere of our office space.

“I hereby vow to uncover this nefarious act of pilferage!” I announce, flanks puffed with importance. “To the filing cabinets!” I decree, embarking upon an odyssey amongst papers and folders, a scent of mystery wafting through the air much unlike the detested aroma of liver.

In the midst of our treasure hunt, rife with whispered rumors and clandestine pawshakes, the door creaks ajar. In saunters the ever-stylish Madame Purrington, a Siamese of considerable repute and grandeur, whose whiskers flicker with news of import.

“A telegram for you, good sir,” she pronounces, offering a crisp envelope between delicate paws.

I extend a paw in gratitude, unfolding the missive with an air of anticipation that tickles my jowls. ‘Dispatch from the Canine Co-opers,’ it reads. ‘All squeaky toys accounted for; the conference room incident hereby resolved.’

Collective exhalation of relief sweeps the assembly; no longer shall the specter of sounds unsqueaked haunt our hallowed halls.

“Right then, back to the matter of leisure scheduling. Shall we convene at Southern Golden Retriever River or follow the sun to Lower Golden Gate Gardens? The splendor of choice in Spencerville—I dare say, taxing on the intellect.”

My fellow colleagues, finely attuned to the subtleties of negotiation, engage in debate worthy of ancient philosophers, albeit punctuated by the occasional bark or purr.

The clock chimes the hour, signaling the concluding moments of our convocation. I, Mojo, a dog of insatiable curiosity, find a final thought before dispersing: “Remember dear friends, to slacken one’s collar is to allow the mind to roam free — even within these walls.”

And so, tails held high, we exit The Litter Box, a promise of tomorrow’s continued japes and camaraderie echoing in our wake, chasing our own tails into the heart of Spencerville, our cherished paradise known, but never fully explored.

The End.