Hey Family! Just wanted to let you know I’ve been keeping everyone’s spirits up with my wagging tail and loyal heart. Sniffed out some adventures, made a few friends, and reminded everyone what unconditional love looks like. Woof, woof! 🐾

– Brody (aka Ro Ro)

It was a calm, typically serene evening in Spencerville. The kind of evening where the golden glow of the sinking sun dovetailed gently over the Silver Siberian Summit, casting long shadows upon Brown Boxer Beach. The sort of evening most outsiders reckon nothing much happens. But not tonight. Oh no, not with me around.

My name’s Brody, but folks ‘round here call me Firedawg, a name I wear like a badge of honor. I walk to the beat of my own drum, laid-back they say, a gentle giant of an English Bulldog with brindle fur that swirls like a mesmerizing marbled cake. I’ve got my paws full with my firefighting duties, keeping an eye on them reaching blazes and aiding in some rough-and-tumble rescues. But tonight, the cooling air had a strange whisper to it. Little did I know, by the end of it, every paw in Spencerville would be buzzing.

Perched on a charmed rosewood bench outside The Fetching Deli, my favorite spot — had a bite of every treat on the menu there, from beefy bones to carrot crunchers — I was watching the horizon. My usual watch-duty, you see. Practicing for the reunions to come, you might say. All of a sudden, a yelp pierced the air, shattering the placid serenity.

Now, yelps weren’t uncommon, mind you. Spencerville is brimming with playful furballs. But this cry carried weight, urgency, and if my ears didn’t mistake me, a tinge of fear. I hightailed it to the source, and reckon’ what I found seemed darn near peculiar.

There stood Vinny, a white Spaniard mix; his expression was as frantic as a tail got when a squirrel darted by. “Brody!” Vinny cried out, eyes bulging, “You gotta come quick! Something’s off at Labradoodle Lake. A dark shadow lurkin’!”

Now, Labradoodle Lake is usually our splash zone, where pooches pop in for playful paddles. But a shadow ominous enough to turn that place sinister had to be addressed, and who better than Firedawg?

As we scampered towards the lake, each of Vinny’s hurried steps was in stark contrast to my steady pace. Fear feeds haste, you know, and we English Bulldogs don’t scare easy. Loyal, affectionate, brave — those are my middle names. I kept Vinny in focus even as the damp earth beneath us spoke of hidden secrets.

Up ahead, the lake surface was eerily still, a mirror of black under the rising moon. The wind rippled just fine when we were all meddling and playing, but this void was different — so chilling it could rattle the bones of a mastiff, a giant somethin’ we don’t get much in Spencerville.

Our approach drew whispers from the reeds. “There!” Vinny barked. Sure enough, beyond our clear line of sight was the dreadful shadow, taking the form of a creature unnaturally enormous and sinister. Not a common find, even in these parts.

“Vinny, fetch the crew,” I ordered in my best authoritative tone, a remnant from my EMS days. “We’re not dealing with this alone.”

Vinny shot off like a bolt while I advanced closer — ever so cautiously now. My experience with danger, saving lives in flames and tremors, told me this shadow wasn’t a figment. It invoked fear, the tangible kind, sent to Spencerville to test our fortitude.

I arrived at the source, where Brown Boxer Beach kissed the murky waters. There, slumped half in the lake and half out was… Stephie Lynn, a fellow English Bulldog. The shadow was from a menace she tussled with, a scaly serpent of a beast with eyes glowing yellow.

I lunged without a second’s hesitation. “Hold fast!” I barked, splashing into action. It was a rumble with stakes higher than the Silver Siberian Summit. My jaws clamped down on the snarling creature, kicks and twists borrowed from youthful days playing fetch and tug-of-war.

At that moment, the crew arrived — Millie, Bubba, Bruno, and even Stella, my ironclad heartthrob, all rallied. Each with their unique vigor helped fend off the beast. In unity, we subdued the darkness that dared haunt our tranquil haven.

Dawn crept on the horizon, as I helped Stephie to her feet and gazed at the dissipating shadow retreating under the morning light. We, the brave hearts of Spencerville, heaved with mixed triumph and weariness.

As I stood, panting and gazing across Labradoodle Lake, I knew our perfect town was spared from a sinister turn — for now anyway. Recalling words from yonder days, “the secret to getting ahead is getting started.” And started, we certainly had.

We’ll keep on with our dogged duties, for Spencerville’s tranquility is our sacred guard until that day when we fetch our folks from the skies.