Hey Mom, it’s Rugby. I’m in Spencerville now—picture endless green yards, squirrel chases with Max, and sun-naps under a giant oak tree. I’m enjoying jerky treats and reminiscing with Misty and Scout. We miss you but know we’ll be reunited soon. Life here is serene and squeaky-ball perfect. Love, Rugby 🐾

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the nature of change. Mom always told me that change is the only constant, but she never told me what to do when change felt too big to handle.

Well, here’s a bit about my life in this vacant shimmer called Spencerville. I remember the first time I woke up under the sprawling oak tree, its long branches stretching out like welcoming arms. The feeling was somewhat alien; I’d lost the warmth of Mom’s presence but gained the embrace of an enormous, perfectly green backyard. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting a glow on my radiant white coat. Even for a stocky fellow like myself, the spot felt just right. Max, my ever-playful Golden Retriever neighbor, burst into the scene not long after, introducing me to the mirth of Spencerville.

“Hey Rugby,” Max barked energetically. I lifted my head lazily, putting on my best old-soul demeanor.

“Morning, Max,” I replied, a hint of weariness lacing my voice. Energy was never my forte, especially not before my daily sunbathe.

“Check this out!” he said, producing a squeaky ball from unseen places with a wag of his tail that seemed to generate its own breeze. If there’s one thing that catches my attention, it’s the high-pitched squeak of rubbery delight. My ears perk up every time.

“Alright, let’s see it,” I said, mustering enthusiasm that came easier now.

We dashed through Upper Collie Canyon, a place that reminded me of the thrill of our younger days. On one side, Bella lounged gracefully under a beech tree, her elegant Greyhound form reminding me why I considered her the esteemed queen of shade.

“Join us?” Max barked, tossing the ball high.

Bella glanced up from her spot, a casual flicker of her eyes indicating disinterest. “Maybe later, boys,” she replied, her elegance manifesting even in those three words. Fine by me; I’ve got my squeaky ball, and some adventures are worth the chase.

Despite these distractions, there were even quieter, more introspective times here. Mornings were always my favorite—just me, the oak tree, and the world. And of course, my ever-loyal rubber ball. The squeak, a joyful defiance against the silence.

However, nothing gave me greater joy than our family reunions. Misty and Scout, my beloved siblings, had positioned themselves comfortably nearby. Our shared moments were stories in themselves—Scout’s jovial yips and Misty’s quiet resolve wove tapestries of memories I cherished.

Enter our family’s epic saga. It was one of those evenings that promised mundanity—me in my favorite spot, partially shaded sunlight casting patterns only an artist could hope to replicate. Mom sat across from me, offering a piece of chicken jerky. Now, chicken jerky’s the stuff of legends around here.

“Rugby, how’s my boy today?” she asked, her voice carrying the kind of warmth Spencerville couldn’t replicate. Sure, I might’ve lost her physical presence, but here in Spencerville, I felt the echoes of love undiminished.

I didn’t bark; I didn’t wag my tail excessively. I simply took the jerky. Carrots, I avoided with a practiced precision, just like every other day.

Mom’s absence cast a peculiar shadow, more like the shadow of that oak—permanent yet continuously changing with the time of day. Loud playing with Max, lounging with Bella, and those nightly jerky treats—they were the simple, unspoken chapters of my current existence.

I remember Scout visiting that evening, his playful banter with Bella bringing warmth to the twilight. Misty followed soon after, her stealthy paws almost silent on the grass.

“Rugby,” Misty began, her voice soft but firm, “tell us a tale.”

So I did. I narrated the whimsical adventures of the dog next door, a tale of squirrels and endless backyard chases. They laughed, and I reveled in the sound, soaked in the camaraderie.

Every day in Spencerville broke into a meticulously crafted episode of minor joys and larger realizations. The Fetching Deli fed us delights; Ruff-n-Ready and Pup-Peroni were our haunts for both gourmet meals and brief insights into this human-like utopia.

In the end, Spencerville is as close to perfect as anything can be for waiting souls. Here, we miss our humans, but know, in good time, we’ll be reunited. And until then, we’ll continue our episodic lives: scanning Western Labradoodle Lake, navigating Upper Collie Canyon, marvelling at Bulldog Bay’s serenity, and diving wholeheartedly into every rubber squeak, jerky treat, and shadowed nap under an eternal oak tree.

The End.