Hey Mom and Dad,

Just wanted to give you a tail-wagging update on my Spencerville escapades. I’m now the stealthy guardian known as Vincent the Regal, keeping the peace and pampering my paws in adventure. By night, I lead an elite pack of fluffy knights, skirmishing with the brutes from South Siberian Summit and earning bow wows of respect. Princess Victoria even threw a bark of approval my way! Don’t worry, your Bear Cub’s got this—turning the ruff nights into fairy tails.

Till the next adventure,
Vincent 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

Ever since my paws trotted the cobblestones of Spencerville, I knew my story was not to end at the hem of heaven’s skirt—it was only beginning. I had descended from the mantle of familial loyalty on Earth to the extraordinary hereafter.

They call me Vincent the Regal—though there’s nothing particularly regal about bounding through Chihuahua Castle, cape flapping behind me, unless it’s a royal decree to protect the furry citizens of this paradise.

Unbeknownst to my nap-loving comrades, my ventures by night stray far from the belly-up slumbers of the usual canine. In the softly lit corners of Spencerville, I am a guardian, an untold myth, a whisper among kittens. I am unstoppable. I am… still working on the title.

I lay, feigning slumber, under the Beacon of the Bow Wow Bistro, my black and white coat a perfect camouflage against the obsidian and ivory tiles. My most trusted ally, the Pickle toy, nestled by my side, its hollows empty—no treats tonight. Tonight we hunt for menace, to safeguard our nirvana, Spencerville.

As the amber of dusk surrendered to the charcoal of twilight, my ears perked at the subtle shift in atmosphere. A vibration on the ground, a prickling of the fur. Trouble brewed near Lower Golden Gate Gardens—instincts triggered, I bolted.

Bounding passed Furrific Fried Chicken, the savory scent not quite catching my nostrils as it usually would. No distractions, Vincent. A Protector’s appetite is for justice, not poultry.

I arrived in the nick of time, the source of the commotion coming to light. A posse of brutes, likely from South Siberian Summit, had cornered a hapless trio of terriers. They used their extraordinary abilities for chaos, for splintering the peace we hold dear.

With a roar, I launched myself, my vast frame an ode to the protectors of lore, each bound shaking the earth beneath. The canine marauders, caught off-guard by a Newfoundland-sized force of nature, scampered like leaves before a tempest.

It was then, amid the triumphant gazes of three terriers, each bowing in respect, that I felt it—the superhero’s solace: knowing you’ve averted disaster, saved the day, made the world a little less fraught for those who need it.

From the shadows, I spot a figure applauding my efforts, another super—the majestic Princess Victoria, her frame as commanding as the respect she commands. My sister in arms, in life and after.

“Smooth operation, V,” she intones, her deep bark echoing the night’s stillness.

“We do what we can, Vicky,” I reply, swagger befitting a knight of Spencerville, brushing off my fur as though it were just an evening walk interrupted.

Together, our paws tread back through the illuminated streets, casual heroes in the late hours. Day breaks, the warmth of the sun bleaches away the traces of moonlight and our exploits, leaving Spencerville peaceful once more, all under the watchful eye of Vincent the Regal and company.

To say it’s a dog’s life here would be an understatement. It’s an adventure, it’s a calling, it’s home. And I, Vincent, embark nightly upon hushed escapades, waiting, always waiting—until duty calls again.

The End.