“Hey Ma, utterly crushed the Long Tail League today. Pulverized pups with my mini-legs and hung onto dino-toy like a pro. Outran tongue attacks, bathing threats and won a shower of goldfish crackers. Felt like Bulldog royalty under Spencervillian stars. Maybe tomorrow squirrels might race, who knows? Life’s a ball here, literally. Love, Kirby”

Listen to the story here.

There I was, in Spencerville’s grandest sporting grounds – The Long Tail League. It was after breakfast and before lunch, during that pleasant, uncategorized chunk of morning, my snowy white coat shining pearlescent under the Spencervillian sun, a purple dinosaur toy clenched between my teeth like a prize trophy.

I heard the distant triumphant howls and the echoing cheers of canines. I belonged to the league not because of my agility – my stubby legs wouldn’t quite cooperate on that front – but because of my stubborn refusal to let my toy, this prehistoric lump of fabric out of the clutches of rival dogs.

“Kirby, it’s time for you to run!” a voice called out, interrupting my silent contemplation. That’s my human, always doing the talking for me. It was always ‘run Kirby’ this, and ‘fetch Kirby’ that, and don’t even get me started on ‘bath time,’ Kirby.
Remembering that, I scurried off to the starting line, my competitive spirit ignited. Tail Waggers stood on the right, freshly baked aromas filling up the arena, motivating us runners. I could practically taste the goldfish crackers.

The whistle blew and we were off. It was always a battlefield, dodging legs and tails, narrowly escaping tongues slobbering for the purple dinosaur that was mine! With every passing moment, the finish line came closer, and my stubby legs pulsated with the energy of ten greyhounds. The Chihuahuas, the Beagles, none stood a chance.

As I crossed the finish line, the town erupted in cheers, “Kirby! Kirby!” I absorbed it all, my English Bulldog pride soaring skywards. Before I knew it, a shower of my favorite goldfish crackers rained down on me, a splendid victory feast.

Later, sitting at the Chow Down Chow Chow, victorious and filled to the brim with goldfish crackers, I mused over the day. I had run and claimed victory, not for my human – heavens, no – but for myself and in the name of all things purple dinosaurs.

Life in Spencerville was certainly a whirlwind – chasing tale-tales, winning sports, bickering with Squirrels, detesting bananas – and still it was superior to any dog park or any human town.

Perhaps tomorrow I’d finally convince the squirrels to come down and race me, or maybe swim to Black Bulldog Bay for a trophy. Who knows? After all, everyday is another thrilling game in the world of Spencerville’s sports, as long as I’m not tossed into a soapy bath!

Looking out at the twinkling lights from the houses lining Red Beagle Beach, I sighed in contentment, my heart full of sporting triumph and the simple joy of Spencervillian life. Life was good. Life was exceptional. And there could be no greater joy in the world but to be Kirby, the stubborn, triumphant English Bulldog of Spencerville, holder of the purple dinosaur.

The End.