Hi Mom! 🐾 Just wanted to let you know that I’ve been keeping tails wagging and noses booping in our little corner of the world. I might not have saved the world, but I did rescue a few socks from the laundry basket and helped some humans find their smiles again. Proud to be your Hokie Pokie! 🐶💌

Now, dear readers, come gather ’round, for I’ve a tale to tell of Spencerville, a place where fate saw fit to spin my life’s thread into a tapestry of color, joy, and occasional mischief. It’s a quaint town where tails wag bright and past sorrows are but whispers in the gentle breeze of Gold Retriever River.

I arrived here not too long ago, my paws padding softly onto the inviting grass beneath a sprawling sunbeam. There I was, Hoku, known to friends and family as Hokie Pokie—a trio of monikers so fitting for a brown and white pitbull with a heart as big as my sturdy head. It was Saint Rocco himself who greeted me at the gate, whiskers twitching with a bemused grin as he handed me a parcel of bacon peanut butter treatos—a morsel of home to anchor me in this new adventure.

Spencerville is a town of legend and laughter, home to every shade of fur and feather under the rainbow. As I strolled through Fetch-N-Bites with Onyx the Malamute—an old friend from days past—our noses filled with the comforting scent of freshly baked chicken peanut butter cookies. No need for introductions or explanations here; friendship sprang anew with each wag of the tail.

Living here is a grand affair. Few evenings pass without a round of tug-of-war with Rain, the white Husky, or a lazy sunbathing session on Upper Black Bulldog Bay. Ah, the sun! My fur soaks it up with the sunny satisfaction of knowing it’s a closer embrace to what I shared with my mom back home.

My days are filled with the merriest of endeavors, for I am now the town’s resident chef extraordinaire. Oh, the joy! In the Pawfect Training Center’s cozy kitchen, I whip up concoctions of bacon and peanut butter that would make even a statue drool. Residents here share a fondness for these treatos, our shared affection making them taste like a morsel of our pasts woven into every bite. The Huskies, with their long, thick coats, often jest about how my short coat and big head seemed odd at first, but they’ve since hailed me as one of their own.

My favorite haunt, though, is White Westie Woods, where the air smells of pine and possibility. During my walks there, with fellow adventurers like Raven the Malamute and Marley the Caucasian Shepherd dog, I lead the charge in bouts of discovery, sniffing out new trails like a nose-driven compass. Sometimes, when I pause to catch my breath, I see my own mother smiling down on me from the wispy clouds, and I know with an inner wag that we’ll be together again someday.

Nights here are wrapped in calm and contentment. Before falling to peaceful dreams, I look to the sky and imagine my mom whispering, “Hoku, I see you seein’ me.” In that moment, I smile, a wide grin that bends to a butt wiggle of excitement. I miss her, but I reckon Spencerville ain’t so bad a place to wait.

So here I remain, part of this illustrious pack—a guardian, a friend, a connoisseur of delight—and one day, we’ll all be together again. But until then, there’s work to be done, friendships to be cherished, and family—old and new—to keep watch over. To run with the big boys is my honor, and to live in this town of wagging tales and waiting hearts is my privilege.