Hey family,

Just wanted to give you a tail’s wag from Upper Black Bulldog Bay. I’ve traded my collar for a stethoscope and am now Dr. Leo, healing furred hearts with a nuzzle and a lick at Spencerville Vet. Battling illness has taught me more than ever about courage and compassion. I’m making a difference, one paw and snout at a time, living up to the name Leo the Courageous. Missing you all, send treats!

Love,
Kiki 🐾

I wake to the hustle of Upper Black Bulldog Bay, my ebony fur a stark contrast to the crisp white sheets I’ve come to know as hospital linens. Daylight leaks through the blinds like secrets, and I stretch, feeling every ounce of my 80 pounds thrum with a familiar anticipation. Today, I’m not just Leo the Courageous, I’m Doctor Leo, and the corridors of Spencerville Veterinary Hospital call to me with a promise of purpose.

I start my rounds with the kind of determination that saw me through darker days, back before the cancer and the tail that now wags a bit shorter than it used to. The patients here, they’re like ghosts of my past, their eyes holding stories of battles lost and won, futures uncertain but hopeful in this near-perfect place.

The first chart in my paw belongs to a young collie with eyes like morning dew, her leg mending from an ill-fated leap of faith. “You’ll be chasing butterflies in no time,” I reassure her with a nuzzle, and she licks my snout, her trust implicit—a currency more valuable than chicken treats.

Amidst the bark of monitors and the quiet shuffle of padded feet, I navigate the sterile theatre of life and healing. It’s here, within these walls, the hum of the Pooched Potatoes diner on the edge of my senses, I’ve found a calling echoing the loyalty once reserved for the humans of my yesteryears.

Sammy, my steadfast intern, shadowing my every move, has much to learn about the fine line between empathy and the necessary distance one needs to survive the torrent of emotional turmoil this job delivers daily. I correct him gently when his eagerness outpaces his knowledge; there’s a finesse to this craft that can’t be rushed.

At noon, I slip away to The Bark Shak for a quick bite, the echoes of my morning patients mixing with the savory aroma of the day’s special. I glance at the empty spot beside me, the ghost of Max, my brother in arms, thick in the air. He would’ve sneered at the plate of greens before favorably devouring a meatier option, his wit as sharp as his fangs.

The afternoon is a crescendo of chaos. A tabby with a thorn in her paw, a beagle with the blues, a jackrabbit with a…well, let’s just say his hopping days need a bit of moderation. I address each with a composure I wasn’t aware I possessed before Spencerville, before my unintended sabbatical from mortality granted me a cape of professionalism.

Yet even heroes tire, and as the sun begins to surrender to twilight, the silence of my own company offers the solace I both dread and cherish. A primer of composure before the storm of tomorrows, a sanctuary where my unicorn toy, a symbol of strength and myth, awaits my return.

Ear cleanings still garner my protest, and I’ve yet to grow fond of the ruckus of thunderstorms. But the office of the vet, once a chamber of daunting white coats and clinical stares, has now become my realm, my Colosseum, where my courage not only is tested but thrives.

In quiet moments, I ponder the whispers of leaves, the secrets in the wind, charting unwritten tales of a life rich with devotion, the makings of a legend not just spoken but lived in the boundless heart of Spencerville.

As night falls on Western Fawn Pug Palace, illuminated by lanterns and the soft murmur of contented dreams, I retrieve my unicorn toy, now my scepter, and settle into slumber, surrounded by the serenity and the company of friends unseen but ever-present, my spirit ever weaving through the tapestry of this town, until the day when I shall reunite with those I still, silently, keep watch for.

The End.