Hey Mom,

Just another day being the stealthy paws of Spencerville’s charm! Led the pack on an adventure through quirky shops and the infamous sniffing of THAT pine tree 😁. Avoided the water, rallied the troops with my wit, and still home in time to miss you with every wag. Spencerville legend? Maybe. But you know I’m really just your Queeny Bean.

Licks and tail wags,
Queeny Bean 🐾

**A Tail Wag in Spencerville**

So there I was, Queeny—yep, that’s me, the rather dapper brindle-coat connoisseur of green beans and staunch avoider of aquatic sports—trundling down the sun-kissed streets of Spencerville with purpose rustling in my heart. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not usually one to partake in the whole midday stroll thing—rather fancied my lazy sunbathing, to be honest—but today felt different.

You see, I had this itch behind my left ear that no amount of fancy back-rubbing against the Golden Gate Gardens’ gates seemed to fix. Kept thinking, is it just fleas or the universe nudging me toward adventure? Let’s go with the latter (more romantic, you know).

A pawful of unusual bravery later, I found myself padding down the quirky cobblestone paths towards the heart of town, where the aroma of Furrific Fried Chicken flirted sinfully with the tangy zest wafting from Pupperoni Pizza—a medley that could make even a discerning pup like me dribble.

You wouldn’t have known I was a bit of an introvert. Not today, with the excitement fluttering in my buzz-worthy buzz-cut tail. Plus, Diamond and Sampson had promised to meet me outside The Wagging Tail Bookstore, providing they could tear themselves away from their mutual obsession with looking at their own reflections.

I trotted past The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium, where the meows of contentment flowed through its doors like a whispered promise of endless yarn balls. A snicker escaped my mouth. Call me old-school, but give me a rubber carrot any day over those feline shenanigans.

I arrived at the bookstore, where the smells of old tales and new adventures mingled. There stood Diamond and Sampson, engaged in what looked like a deeply philosophical debate about whether chasing one’s tail was an exercise in futility or a profound existential quest.

“Quingy,” Sampson greeted me, his articulation always suspect when his tongue lolled that way.

“Dude, it’s Queeny. With an ‘e’. As in ‘ever so fabulous,’ you know?” I corrected, a warranted roll of my eyes accompanying the syllables.

Diamond barked in agreement—or it could’ve just been a sneeze; I never was good at translating her short bursts of enthusiasm.

Our little trio made our way through the thriving market, dodging enthusiastic pups and the occasional cat on a leash (talk about magical realism!). We danced around the pet peeves of our everyday lives—mine quite literally as we avoided the spray from a nearby mutt getting his loathed bath—and focused squarely on our Spencerville to-do list.

“First stop: Lower Golden Gate Gardens. I’ve got to sniff that particular pine tree, you know the one,” I said, my tail a metronome of anticipation.

“The one that smells like adventure and squirrels?” Diamond chimed in, her own tail now a whirlwind of white.

“The very same.”

An entire afternoon we had spanned, just the three musketeers booping along. I led, as usual—well, next to Diamond, who apparently decided today was a race. Flemish giants tamed by hypnotic petting, a possible unicorn sighting, and an impromptu obstacle course crafted from dashed foliage. All in a day’s work, really.

As the sun began to lower, casting a sleepy glow over Red Beagle Beach, we knew it was about time to part ways. Sampson had his evening bubble wrap popping (don’t ask), while Diamond, the white bolt of exuberance, was due to clash in another play-bout with the neighborhood squirrels. Me? I moseyed on over to my sanctuary for some overdue ‘me time’, happy and content in the knowledge of cherished companionships and the promise of tomorrow in Spencerville.

I gazed up at the kaleidoscope of colors painting the sky, and my thoughts drifted to my family. They were out there somewhere, living their human lives, likely munching on whatever inferior snack that wasn’t a green bean. A heart can get pretty heavy with love and absence, but here in Spencerville, my heart was just light enough to carry hope.

Hope for an endless loop of perfect days, hope for the faint murmur of my human’s laughter to visit me in the breeze, and hope for our grand reunion one sweet day. But until then, adventure—and a rather fetching rubber carrot—awaited.

So yeah, that’s me, Queeny. I’m kind of a big deal around here, but don’t you go spilling all my secrets, okay? Keep it between us, the legend of the heartfelt hound of Spencerville.

The End.