“Hey Mom, Harold The Hound here. Took a one-way ticket to Spencerville – metropolis full of canine dreams, with no vets in sight. Roamed with my pack, feasting on pizza, exploring amazing spots & ruling my town. Missing family walks and dinners. All good – Spencerville is pre-reunion. Licks and wags, Harold The Hound”

Listen to the story here.

In the broad strokes of cosmic time, Harold, that wild-eyed brown Wolf Mix with guts of steel, took the one-way route to Spencerville. Oh, he saw it coming, the distant rumble of that ethereal highway calling him forth, his soft light brown coat glistening with reality’s final shine as he turned tail on this mortal plane. Yeah, Spencerville. I knew it well, the ageless resting place for beasts built of loyalty and corn chip-smelling paws. It was a town conceived in the dreams of inconsolable children, kept alive by those that understood the true eternality of fetch.

Johnny, my old man, always said that the asphalt of Spencerville was smoother than the surface of heaven. Cats and vets, to the devil with them and their dreaded poking instruments! Harold thought the same, or so his grumbling tones professed loudly whenever we bumped into them. Daylight misuse, I call it.

His new domain was studded with destinations of canine delight: Lower Silver Siberian Summit, Collie Canyon, White Westie Woods. Names that evoke the spirit of wilderness, of nature unfettered by man-made cages. Harold dug that scene, always up for a car-ride, always the first one to dive into the lake, with an almost punk-like defiance to actually being a wolf. Harold lived on the edge of civilization but made every yard his own.

And so, he roared into Spencerville with a pack of kindred spirits, brothers in arms that’d give any motorcycle gang a run for their money. Smiley, Babe, Pugsley, George, Pooh, and Betty; they were all there, heralding his arrival under the vast neon lining of Doggy Delight. Yes, the same Doggy Delight where pot roast dishes and pepperoni pizzas flowed like a torrent of canine ecstasy.

Stuffed to the brim, they’d saunter down the picturesque lanes, their voices barking a symphony echoing throughout the town, pausing only for grooming breaks at The Dapper Dog Salon and then, a pitstop at The Doggy Depot for bones that’d turn any wolf mix green with envy. It wasn’t just a town. It was Harold’s town.

And in his moments of solitude, when the vibrancy of the town fell into a peaceful slumber, Harold sighed, eyes gleaming with stars as he peered into the distance. There, beyond the limits of Spencerville, images of walks with my old man, sunbathing in the yard, and stolen family dinners flashed in vibrant colors. His understanding was deeper, his intellect sharper, staring into the beyond with a quiet certainty that we’ll meet again. For he knew, in the grand cosmic time of tomorrow, Spencerville was the step before the reunion, and until then, he would run his town, keeping it safe, keeping it warm, waiting for us to cross that ethereal highway.

The End.

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