Hey Mom (or should I say, Alpha?),

Hope you’re doing pawesome! Here’s what my day looked like: Led the crew on a fun ride through Upper Collie Canyon. The “Fur Tacos” meal hit the spot today; yes, I still hate spinach! Had some tense talk with those hissy cats again. Don’t worry! I held my ground! You know me, Malchik the Shepherd-Corso hybrid.

Headed over to Fawn Pug Palace. Reminds me of being a pup, running around with squeaky balls. Those were simple times, right? Guess you could say, I’m a big softie at heart.

Just another day in our paradise, Spencerville, where we don’t mourn, but celebrate. Take some time out to remember Mal sometime today, okay? Really tough not having him around. He would’ve turned a year older today.

Sending you dog kisses and tummy rub requests.

Love,
Mboy +🐾

Just another day in Spencerville, the town where the living spirit of my bud, Malchik, thrives with panache. And me? I’m Sinbad, his cardinal companion from the yesteryears, here to tell you his story.

All motorcycle engines roared in harmony, the deep bellow serving as a defiant anthem echoing through Upper Collie Canyon. At the helm of our ragtag crew of motley mutts was Malchik, or as he was known around these parts, “Old Iron Jowls.”

There he was on his heft Harley, the gleam in his German shepherd eyes reflecting the golden sun, as he led us to Fur Tacos, his favorite local haunt. “Chicken and peanut butter, boys!” Malchik would grumble, his voice so gruff it was like gravel scraping on cement. The eatery’s special was a hit amongst us all but especially for Malchik, who’d championed the spicy blend of flavors. As for spinach, it was strictly off-limits, the scourge of his otherwise adventurous palate.

In this nearly perfect land of Spencerville, we’d pass the time indulging in our human-like existence, often making our way to the Fetching Deli for a robust meal, or stopping by The Groom Room to scrub away the road grime, but our real business was protecting this town, this haven. And let me tell you, friend, when you’re a canine leading a motorcycle club, there are always cats who want to upset the balance.

Now, Malchik being a shepherd-Corso hybrid, led with a stern, resolute paw; a strong, but fair officer of the canine code. Not one for unwarranted fights, he was, however, fierce when it came to defending our turf. And his stubbornness, boy, it shone through in the tense, treaty talks with the Calico Crew, our feline foes.

But our story isn’t all about gears and growls, mate. Amidst all the chaos, Malchik had a soft spot, Fawn Pug Palace. It was our sanctuary, our meditative space; a place where we parked our rides, caught our breaths, and…you wouldn’t believe it, played squeaky balls. “Old Iron Jowls,” the king of the roads, was a child at heart, reduced to a spinning, squealing joy-monger at the sound of a squeaky ball. And we laughed, oh we howled, every single time.

Spencerville was, and is, our home, our paradise. Even though Malchik’s physical form has journeyed beyond this world, his spirit motoring through that eternal highway in the sky, his legacy revs on. As for me, I miss my brother, but here in Spencerville, we don’t mourn, we celebrate. After all, nothing is truly ended till it is forgotten, and Malchik, well…he’s one hell of a tough tail to forget.

The End.