Hey Mom,

I mistook a rock for a squirrel, got outfoxed by squeaky toy anarchy, endured the treachery of melting Pupsicles, and accidentally masqueraded as a peacock at a dog parade. Just another comical day in Spencerville. 🐾🤡🎭

Hugs, Kirb

Listen to the story here

I should have known something was amiss when I awoke that sunny afternoon in Spencerville, stretched my stubby legs, and ventured outside, only to find the Yellow Tan Dalmatian Desert had been replaced with a blinding whiteness that confused my keen bulldog senses. Maybe the cosmos were winking, or perhaps I simply hadn’t had enough Pawsome Pancakes that morning, but my daily squirrel surveillance was not going to go as planned.

On this fateful day, instead of my usual frenzied bunch of fluffy-tailed jesters, there was only a lone squirrel, sitting quite still, meditatively munching on a nut. It didn’t even flinch as I approached, which was rather rude or highly enlightened; I couldn’t quite tell. In a daring attempt to engage with the rodent, I let out a bark. No reaction. I tried a louder bark, then another; perhaps it was hard of hearing.

Picture my dismay when I discovered it was not a squirrel, but a very squirrel-like rock. Mortified, I glanced around; surely someone had seen grand Kirby, hunter of the taunting tree-hoppers, duped by geology. Apparently not, as the other dogs were too engrossed in a game of tag at the Dog Park Royale – which quite unexpectedly, today seemed to feature actual tiny crowns upon the players’ heads. When one falls into the hands of a bulldog with a deep sense of nobility, one tends to get a tad, shall we say, high-brow.

All this should have served as ample warning to the peculiarities afoot that day, but of course, the penny only fully dropped when I decided to pay a visit to Fetch! Toys and Treats, with the ambition to conquer a new plush toy opponent. I marched up to the counter, where a freshly delivered basket of goodies awaited judgement.

“Kirby, my dear chap,” came the voice of the friendly Frenchie behind the counter. “The freshest batch of squeaky ducks – one even quacks ‘La Marseillaise’ when squeezed… how very Continental.”

The duck in question, however, did not squeak nor sing of French revolutions, but instead emitted a sound eerily reminiscent of a cat’s meow. Thinking it was simply a malfunction, I squeezed again. The same bizarre noise trespassed my ears. The surrounding canine companions turned their heads in what could only be collective disapproval. Clearly, something was amiss in the fabric of Spencerville reality – toys that mocked the laws of nature and a growing sense that bananas might suddenly become appetizing. The horror!

My day of errors pressed on when I strutted into the Pupsicle Palace for a frozen treat – only to be served a dish of thoroughly melted goop.

“It’s our newest flavor, ‘Summertime Sadness’,” drooled the shaggy server, with a nonchalance that would befit someone watching paint dry.

“Surely this is more ‘Midday Meltdown’,” I retorted with a grin, trying to keep the mood light. Inside, my spirits were waning. I greatly disliked the unexpected in my treats, much the same as I disliked the unexpected embrace of bathwater.

But through this saga of slip-ups, the realization dawned that perhaps Spencerville was teaching me to tread lighter on life’s stage, and to bark less at my expectations and more at reality’s twists. Even so, if I had known the day would end with me mistakenly entering the annual Spencerville ‘Pooch Promenade’ disguised as a bewildered peacock (due to an unfortunate altercation with a misplaced costume) instead of the local Bulldog Bravery Bash, I might have stayed in bed.

At least, amidst these errors, Spencerville remained a haven for a stout bulldog like myself – who, despite the day’s peculiar trickery, knew that every misadventure in this town was but a tickle on the tummy of life’s great narrative. So, dear reader, as you mull over my misfortunes, remember this: if you spot an earnest bulldog barking up the wrong tree, or sporting feathers where fur should be, chuckle heartily, wave generously, and indulge in the laughable symphony of this canine utopia.

The End.