“Hey, I’ve landed in Spencerville, a pet’s paradise. Hit up the beach, climbed the summit with Lulu, gorged on steak at The Bone Appetit, drooled over Pup-Cakes, and propped up the Canine Cafe. Unreal, heart-aching times. Miss you but living the dog’s life until I see ya. Signed, your eternal chaser of the elusive ball – Satan.”

Listen to the story here

As I rolled into Spencerville, the welcome sign shimmered in the twilight, casting long shadows that danced along with the evening breeze. A place where us pets leave our earthly shackles, living merrily until the day we meet again with our parents. The townsfolk, all furry and feathered kind, carry an air of enthusiasm wrapped in the delicate shroud of patience. Patience for a reunion they know would happen one day.

The first thing I hit was Boxer Beach, the sand warm beneath my paws, my grumpy face ungrumpy for a moment, lips drawn back in what you’d call a canine grin. Decided to give old paws a rest and cool off. The ocean beckoned. Felt the irresistible lure of those cool blue waves. House rules don’t apply here, the porter’s nowhere to be seen to tell me I’m ruining the furniture. Belly flopped onto the cushioning swash, my old joints cheering with relief.

Then there’s the Lower Silver Siberian Summit, laying out a grand view only a few of us could truly appreciate. I scaled it, me and Lulu, just to beat our old record. Her bulldog face mimicking mine, panting hard yet moving fast. There’s an invisible thread connecting us that hums whenever she’s near. Perhaps it was the bonds of packhood, or maybe it was she knew my drinking habits were no fable.

After a quick visit to the Furry Friends Art Gallery, where a vibrant portrait of my beloved squeaky chicken was on display, I hit The Bone Appetit. Tank’s usual, they know it well. Steak that could make your heart sing, rare and smoking. The scent was a bullhorn that gathered the entire town; even those cat souls turned their snooty noses this way.

Slid into Pup-Cakes for dessert. Savored the rich sugarless cakes, each crumb filling my mouth with joy. Yeah, I get it, I’m old. Won’t regret any of it. The droopy cake bits painting my chin draw eyes, but who cares when there’s such delicacy to devour?!

My nights blended into a mix of beer at Canine Café and hours of play at Pooch Playhouse. There’s room for everyone at Spencerville, even for an old dog who can’t get enough of beer-infused kibble.

Life here is surreal, like a dream with eyes wide open. Still got secrets tucked under my fur, private as the birthmark on my head, still got the playful joy of a pup. But there is a yearning. A cord that ties me to the days of youth, filled with the delicious tonic of undefinable something that I’ve lost.

But until the day that aching solitude of mine is filled, it’s Spencerville for me. An old dog like Tank has plenty of stories to tell, heaps of kibble to devour, and endless beaches to conquer. Somewhere out there my parents are waiting, and some fine day we’ll be together again. But hey, until the reunion, let’s leap the fence and chase that elusive ball. Sometimes, you see, it’s about the chase itself, not the game or glory. Remember me, my friends, the Tank – the beer-drinking, steak-loving hound with a heart-shaped mark.

The End.