Hey Mom, just checking in! 🐾 I’ve been keeping everyone safe, made a few new friends, and there’s been a lot of tail-wagging moments. Missing you lots but all good here. Love you!

-Malchik

Oh, the trials and tribulations of being Malchik, the infamous German Shepherd-Cane Corso mix, navigating life in Spencerville. Allow me to regale you with the extraordinary existence I lead. Picture it, a realm where the ordinary mutt mingles with royalty at places like Corgi Castle and delights in gastronomic wonders like those found at Pawsome Pancakes. It is within this town, my friends, that I reign supreme.

Now, I’ve long retired from the earthly plane, but that doesn’t mean my life here in Spencerville is any less, shall we say, exhilarating. My days, while absent of bullet-dodging and bribery, now revolve around orchestrating the perfect balance between a life of leisure and my responsibilities as the undisputed Dogprano boss.

This morning, for instance, I found myself at the Yellow Tan Dalmatian Desert, a spot I frequent not for its vistas, but as a clandestine meeting venue. Understanding my loyalty and courage, the big bosses have entrusted me with delicate matters, like keeping an eye on rival factions or making sure the Pupperoni Pizza delivers—an onerous task, I assure you, given the endless appetite for chicken and peanut butter that seems to define our lot.

I strode through the desert, a multicolored tapestry of golds, blacks, and greys glistening under the sun. My paws left imprints in the sand, a reminder of my determined stride. “M’boy,” a voice called out—reaching my triangular ears, flicking slightly amidst the whispering winds. It was one of the local runners, Sinbad, an old comrade from my Earthly days and now my most trustworthy informant.

“Sinbad,” I growled warmly, yet with the air of authority my position demanded. “The intel better be snappier than last time. We don’t want another incident like the Lambchop fiasco.”

He yelped, ears flattened, evidently recalling the misunderstanding with the squeaky Lambchops’ shipment. The entire town had succumbed to a squeaking symphony that day. “No worries, Mal,” he whimpered. “Everything’s shipshape at Fawn Pug Palace. The Pugabees have no plans of encroaching on our territories.”

Spencerville, you see, while nearly perfect, still had its power struggles and territorial whims. Nothing truly changes, does it? In a world filled with harmoniously wagging tails, someone must maintain decorum, order, and occasionally, procure strawberries—another favorite of mine.

I sauntered towards Corgi Castle, glancing occasionally at the ever-bustling Tail Wagger’s Tailor. It houses the sartorial delights every self-respecting dog could envision. I paused briefly, allowing my nose to take in the aromas wafting from Tail Waggers, a fine establishment serving delectable cuts of chicken. My stomach growled in appreciation.

A loud bark from within the Groom Room drew my attention back to matters at paw. It was a weak bladdered-epsiode, nothing more, but always amusing to witness pups acclimatizing to this new afterlife—where humans were scarce, but camaraderie bounded in every which way.

Night falls gently over Spencerville, and as I make my way to Best in Show Photography for a commemorative portrait—each whisker meticulously placed—I can’t help but look forward to my nightly wind-down. This involves sprawling luxuriously over the Big Bed, a regal throne befitting a dog of my calibre. No more spinach-laden misadventures, no more skirmishes with vexatious vacuum cleaners. Just the promise of peaceful slumber, briefly interrupted by dreams of my Mom and a peanut butter paradise.

So as another day draws to a close in this enchanted realm, I continue to balance my canine criminal enterprise with the tireless heart of a mob boss who, above all, cherishes family. Because after all, what’s Spencerville if not a nearly perfect place where even a stubborn dog can find his Tail Wagger heaven, all while awaiting that ultimate reunion with those we await most ardently.