Hey Mom,

Just wanted to let you know that I’m basically the proud, unofficial mayor of our furry utopia here in Spencerville. I’m keeping peace between the squirrels and the pups, serving both wisdom and play in generous portions. I might act the fool sometimes, but trust me, there’s method in my madness. 🐾 We’re all sticking together, waiting and wagging for a day when we reunite with the humans we love. Miss you.

Hugs and tail wags,
Cassius the Canine King 👑🐶

Listen to the story here

We could have ruled together, you know, in the sticky heat of a Spencerville summer where the sun sets lazy and slow, like a Golden retriever sinking onto a plush bed after a day well spent. But here I stand alone—a brindle and white monarch of sorts—surveying my realm from the steps of Fawn Pug Palace.

It’s another high-noon on a Tuesday, and I, Cassius Cash, am holding court amongst the verdant lawns and towering oaks that stand guard like sentinels around the Northern Choco Chihuahua Castle. A pair of squirrels are chattering secretively up in the branches; they don’t concern me today, we have an understanding, the rodent plebeians and I. My kingdom thrives on such silent accords.

In this canine Camelot, every mongrel and purebred has its place, each a thread in the grand tapestry that is Spencerville, though I’m pressed to admit, some threads carry a gilded sheen—yours truly being the most resplendent among them. I carry the weight of a royal crest, invisible but no less heavy for its lack of physical form.

My subjects trot, canter, and gallivant through the streets; it’s a masquerade of mirth and freedom. Molly the Maltipoo skips by on the cobblestones, her dancer’s grace drawing admiring glances. She’s as light on her paws as I am grounded in my stately trot—an anchor in a sea of frivolous fur and paws.

Brutus the Bulldog makes his thunderous presence known, a concerto of snores following him like a comic shadow. His court jester routine, albeit unintentional, never fails to incite a chuckle even in the stiffest of collars.

And ah, Miss Fifi LaRue, prancing with a pompadour high enough to scrape the sky. She carries within her poodle curls the audacity of a siren leading sailors astray—with a glance, a curve of a well-manicured paw, she owns it all.

Our days cycle with a rhythm of their own; we dine on delicacies at The Bone Appetit, barking debates over the superior merits of bone marrow versus salmon treats. At Ruff-n-Ready, I preside over my kingdom’s welfare, dispensing wisdom and canine camaraderie with equal generosity.

But it isn’t pure hedonism that holds Spencerville in thrall. A whisper of yearning lingers, as ephemeral as dew on morning grass, for the humans we once guarded with tooth and soul. We are their loyal knaves in absence, our love undiminished by the veil that separates our worlds.

I navigate this duality with the skill of a rubber chicken tamer, dodging between my regal duties and the simple, unadulterated joy of a ‘Chick-a-dee’ toss. I am Cassius Cash—part jest, part sage whispering in the winds—a living sonnet to the canine form.

The tale of my reign isn’t etched in stone; it’s woven with the licks and nuzzles of everyday life, every greeting at the Dapper Dog Salon, and every hushed conversation held in the sacred enclaves of pet patois around the water bowls of Fetch! Toys and Treats.

As the day wanes and the twilight paints my brindled coat in strokes of gold and shadow, my thoughts travel to the ephemeral bond—a promise of reunion that beats steady like a heart under the chest.

This is my kingdom. This is my day in the sun-drenched, squirrel-whispering, tail-wagging life of Spencerville. And until the day when shadows turn to form and spirit turns to flesh, I will stand watch, a crowned pet among playful hearts, both sovereign and servile to the memories of those we await.

The End.