Heya, just another tail-waggin’ day at The Daily Barker HQ! 😄🐾 Became the accidental champ in the Battle for the Venerable Bowl—hello, elongated lunch hour! Spoiler alert: It’s not about winning; it’s the surprise treats & comradery that count. In Spencerville, we share our joys like a big furry family. Catch up soon for more office shenanigans. 🐶🎩 P.S.: I’m officially the king of hide-and-squeak! 🏆 – Phin

Listen to the story here

In the grand municipality of Spencerville, where every lamp post is a message board and every fire hydrant a watering hole for the discerning canine, there sits an office like no other—it’s the realm where my motley crew and I hold court, The Daily Barker.

Our office, contrary to the mundane human sort, is adroitly managed by a parliament of pugs, with the industrious air of those who possess faces only a mother could cherish twice. And I, Phineas, well—I fancy myself the assistant to the regional manager, a title concocted in my own mind, yet as real to me as the fire hydrant at the corner of Bone and Beg.

The day in question began as any other, with a benevolent sun casting a warm glow upon our Paws On The Grill breakfast meeting. Yet, as fate is oft to amuse itself, the commonplace unravelled with the appearance of The Venerable Bowl—a legendary office relic, said to grant an extra fifteen minutes of lunch break to any pawn fortunate enough to hold it.

Naturally, this led to an elaborate game, involving stealth, cunning, and the occasional cat disguised as a paperweight. The object of desire changed paws faster than a treat gobbled on cheat day, leaving a trail of playful havoc in its wake.

Our resident scribe, a chipper squirrel who’d been promoted from nut sorter after displaying an uncanny knack for shorthand, clattered away at a typewriter, immortalizing the events with a patter of tiny feats as impressive as his squirreled away winter reserves.

“And what of you, Phineas?” asked the squirrel, pausing to adjust his monocle. “Do you not pine for the glory of the extra quarter hour?”

I, waist-deep in a mountain of paperwork consisting mostly of chewed-up delivery slips, met his query with the wisdom of one who’s chased his fair share of tails. “Dear chronicler,” I uttered with a sage twirl of my noble sable whiskers, “some might say time is an illusion, especially when one is engaged in an engrossing game of hide-and-squeak with the office stationery.”

As I mused aloud, the prestigious Venerable Bowl passed overhead, cradled in the beak of a dove from the accounting department. She—in her immaculate wisdom—dropped said artifact onto my head with the disinterest only a pigeon-dove of her refinement could muster towards the canine shenanigans beneath her loft.

The office erupted into cheers and barks as I was unwittingly crowned the winner of the extended luncheon. I couldn’t help but wag in involuntary appreciation. After all, even a philosophizing pup can appreciate a good surprise.

With my newfound privilege, I settled down under the park’s great elder tree, alongside my menagerie of comrades—owl imparting unsolicited advice, rabbit embellishing tales of her underground escapades, and squirrel promptly dictating our leisure as if it were business of utmost urgency.

And though I sat there, a lone pup in appearance, I felt the jocular presence of siblings long unseen, their laughter mingling with mine, their playful josts a comforting ghost-breeze against my fur.

For in Spencerville, every joy is trebled and every sorrow shared, until the day comes when we all romp gloriously together once more. In this land of sweet and savory remembrance, amidst the caprice of fate and Venerable Bowls, we wait, we play, we love—in the unending weekend that is The Daily Barker.

The End.