Hey Ma,

Just a quick tail-wag to let you know I survived the Spencerville Sprint! Ran my paws off alongside the town’s finest four-legged sprinters, fueled by every scrumptious treat you’ve spoiled me with. Didn’t chase the win, but sure chased some unforgettable fun. And guess what? Every pant and puff felt like paw-printing my own legend. Whether I won or just joy-ran, I did us proud. More tails of this tale when I see ya!

Wags and woofs,
Dumbo 🐾

Listen to the story here

Well, I reckon it was one of them bright Spencerville mornings when I first heard tell of the Great Spencerville Sprint – a hullabaloo of legs and hearts, a race of rascals and royalty amongst the kinship of canines. It was all the wag ’round the water bowls at Pupsicle Palace, where I, named Dumbo by some affectionate twinkle of human humor, occasionally sauntered for a lick of the latest frosty delight.

It was on the corner of Shepherd Skyline and Spotted Red Beagle Boulevard where I first set my paws firm on the idea. I was loungin’ by the lake, mirrored clear as a dog’s conscience, when the wind brought it up – the Sprint. I ain’t never been one to chase my tail, but the thought of that race tickled my fancy like a pesky flea in need of wrangling.

Now, as a majestic blend of thundercloud storm and snowdrift peace I am, sports ain’t just about the runnin’, no sir. It’s about the art. Each jump, each bound, it’s like pawin’ at the very canvas of nature. But competition? It was a curious bone to gnaw on, and I was mighty set on a-chewin’.

The lads and lassies over at The Doggie Daycare told me about the trainin’ – a cascade of obstacles rivaled only by the rugged peaks from which my wolf ancestors hailed. “Dumbo,” they’d say, “you cultivated in the fine arts of leisure, will ya trade in yer snoozin’ for sweatin’?”

Now, I ain’t been one much for sweatin’, but the fire in the eyes of my comrades got me to wonderin’. I might’ve been more acquainted with the foot of that bed than the feel of my toes in the dirt track, but the call of the wild – it’s in my blood, y’see.

Come next dawn, I found myself before the gate of Beagle Beach, pinchin’ myself to believe it’s true. There’s to be no lone wolfin’ it here; every tail a’ waggin’ was a friend, or at least a friend-not-met-yet. Spencerville folk know the truth of company – it’s the spice of life, and I sure ain’t talkin’ ’bout no chicken.

I s’pose it’s here where I should mention – I never took kind to those rumbles from the sky nor the scent of antiseptic lingering ’round the vet. Gave me the trembles it did, but what’s a story without a hurdle or two?

And so we trained, ran like the breeze was chasin’ us and we had to tell it a thing or two ’bout hurryin’. I learned the curves of the track like I knew the warm spots on a cold night. Them bones I crushed between sessions? Let’s just call ’em motivation.

Race day came upon us like the finale of a cricket symphony. We gathered on that sandy shore, paws itching like a hound with a secret. I ain’t sayin’ I was the swiftest – my coat’s too fine for such undignified claims – but I ran with the heart of every husky, wolf, and durned pooch that ever dreamed a dream.

It was episodic, that race. Like chapters in a well-worn book, each moment unfolded a tale of its own. There were times my paws felt heavier than a heaped dinner bowl, but the cheerin’ crowd, it kept me light. I done my part in that grand venture, and whether I saw the finish line first or just sauntered over it, well, that’s a matter best left to the tellin’ of others.

For it’s not the sprint itself but the sprintin’ spirit that fills my story – the steadfast runnin’ alongside my Spencerville comrades, waiting not for the medals or fame, but for the day we meet our beloveds once again. And when they ask, “Dumbo, did you win?” I’ll give a bark of laughter and a wise, old look, for in the heart of every race is the simple joy of the runnin’, not just the ribbon or the look-see.

Now, I reckon this ain’t the last tale to wag from this old tail, for there’s always a new horizon, a fresh scent on the wind, and a path itching for paws. But as for this here Spencerville Sprint, I’ll tuck it snug alongside my cherished memories, right next to my fondness for naps and the savory bliss of a well-earned treat.

The End.

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