“Hey Mom, it’s the Lil’ Man! Chilled with Fast-Tail Alfie today in sunny S’ville, did the usual desert run and meadow bask. Scored at ‘Bow Wow Burgers’, devoured jerky – PB free, of course! Topped it with a book shredding session at ‘The Wagging Tail’. Miss ya tons, but doggie paradise ain’t so bad. Xoxo, your Jasper Dude.”

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Well, it was another sunny morning in Spencerville, you see, woofin’ delicious if you ask me! I, Jasper, a spry 11-pound packet of vivacious vigor, stepper extraordinaire, and mischief-maker was gearing out for my routine foraging expedition to the Lower Dalmatian Desert. I must admit, my canine pals have accused me of having a particular penchant for the desert’s warmth. Now, I ask ya, can a dog not simply enjoy the amalgam of arid aromas and sunlight blanketing his black and white coat?

Out there, beneath the silver dome of the all-too forgiving sky, I ran into Fast-Tail Alfie, one of my beagle buddies. “Hey, Jasper,” he barked enthusiastically, “You’ve looked everywhere in this sandbox, but no sight of jerky treats yet, huh?” Me and my jerky treats, they were like existential peanut butter and jelly, too bad I couldn’t stand actual peanut butter. How ironic, isn’t it? One may say it’s due to my allergies, yet I believe it’s more, it’s the manifestation of some sort of Karmic healing. Lord knows what I did in my last canine incarnation to deserve this.

Our mornings in Spencerville usually began this way – with banter, leg-trekking and frivolous ribbing. You see, we all were marooned in the aftermath of an apocalypse, one that went over our fur-ball heads. For us it wasn’t so bad, we just moved along doing our dog thing. And no, we don’t discuss the before times – because, you see, here we were… alive, frivolous, and sniffing about with no supervision! Our human companions, they seemed to have been raptured away, poof! Gone girl. We all miss them, but frankly speaking, I couldn’t relate to the creases on Reo’s forehead – he was fretting about the return of our cannot-live-without-’em bipeds. As the wise men say, “Patience is virtue.”

Next stop was the trek to the Cream Maltese Meadow, a bustling Spencerville weekend hotspot. After a fair share of basking in the sun, we made our way to ‘Bow Wow Burgers’ – only the best dug out in town. Yours truly, being an adventurous food hound, always sniffed out for innovative delicacies. They catered to all canine tastes, even for the likes of me who had a peculiar palate. Jerky check, sans the peanut butter, check – date with my friends, graced by an occasional dollop of cheese – bliss on a cloudy day in doggo world.

After our munchies, we’d usually head over to ‘The Wagging Tail Bookstore,’ a peculiar place. Imagine canine versions of Shakespooch or Pugstoy. Pretty woofin’ artsy, isn’t it? Our interaction with the so-called literature wasn’t intellectual, so to speak. But hey, I had the earned distinction of being the best book-shredder in town, a talent honed on my favorite two-headed sea monster toy.

As I write this tale, comfortably sprawled on the velvet cushions in the Meadow, with my radiant tongue hanging out, I glance towards the towering peak of the Silver Siberian Summit – a beacon standing tall and strong amidst our fur-covered chaos. Sighing contentedly, I realize, Spencerville, with all its doggy donuts and huffs and barks, isn’t half-bad for a bunch of survivors. It’s our canine Camelot, full of tail-wagging anecdotes, ripped books and the infinite promise of another tomorrow, I thought – and woof, I bet you agree too.

The End.