Hey Mom! Just wanted to bark a quick update your way—I successfully herded those squirrel rascals away from the backyard and even made a few new friends at the park. Took a tumble in the mud but it was totally worth it—felt like a real hero today in my own tale of tail-wagging adventures. Wags and barks, Ollie. 🐾

I’m standing in the bustling lobby of Spencerville Veterinary Hospital—at least, that’s what we’ve modestly decided to name it—or as modestly as one can name a place that teeters along the lines of doggy utopia meets medical drama central. It’s all quite official and dramatic with shiny equipment and carefully arranged calming zen elements, akin to the human world’s swanky healthcare matchmaking too many shows I’ve glimpsed through the snippets I’ve caught before taking that glorious nap on Mom’s lap.

Today, the theatre of operation has been booked for something ordinary turned extraordinary, as always. A tattered Parma-squeak clone—a patient’s cherished toy—needs reconstructive surgery. We take these matters seriously. I make my rounds through the Vet’s Rest area, eyes darting about—no room for glitches. I, Oliver, Ollie to friends, or evoking a higher command with “Squishy Pup,” am drained from distractions beyond my control, like managing the emotional turbulence caused by a newcomer’s pawfection deficiency. I wave a calming paw past many, including a Highland Terrier fit for the posh snoot in Snooty Snout Boutique.

It’s nearly lunchtime, the slow hours ticking toward our rendezvous at The Bark Shak. Despite today’s meat feast promise—chicken, beef, hints of ham—I must maintain focus! Too many patients to comfort. Plus, a juicy lead on the infamous Fork in the Mud caper—a swindle involving disappearing sausages down Bullmastiff Boardwalk—needs unraveling.

I wander past the various works of fetching displays at the Furry Friends Art Gallery, where a surreal portrait of the laid-back feline admin assistant, grinning with Cheshire confidence, stares out from the décor. Yuck! Cats open prickly memories. More often than pancakes flipped post-nap, those four-legged hair-spatters manage to slink along and send my sovereignty for a spin! Apparently, they’re part of the show now—playing their roles. Drama noses alert!

Making it to a more congenial scenario, I find Doctor Doodle—an overzealous spaniel—buried in plans to remodel The Howling Husky Hardware Store post-accident involving a mountain of chew toys collapsing on aisle five… completely unaware a standard problem arises as ‘Shakes the Rattler’ squeaker malfunctioned. I approach with some stink-eye zest and, in replay of last week’s debacle mid-fetch over Golden Gate Gardens*, tremors again as—Voila!—shed fur sails through the air! No heroics here, just old bones at work!

In escalating concert, fetch aficionados begin surging to my side. Energized minds and hearts assembled, dreams of triumph glinting brighter than rolled fresh tennis balls.

“What’s say we ‘ruff’ up some playtime, keep our spirits intact?” I bark approvingly. There is growl and regularity. For in Spencerville’s fond embrace, laughter prescribes perfect patient recovery.

And while the notion of Mom sighs saddened by absence—we chuckle at the concept—knowing warmth lingers rich, asking us ready upon reunion, Spencerville remains that blessed bridge between hope and horizon.

Here, I’m Oliver, and we keep tails wagging.

*Golden Gate Gardens is fantastically woven with red poppies and hydrangeas that never wither.