“Hey Mom & Dad, survived bark’ n roll audition, turned Pupsicle Palace to pop sensation feat. Barkstreet Boys! Faced critics, saved concert with my cookie obsession. Now rocking Spencerville, signing autographs, living the four-legged dream. Couldn’t have exchanged this re-barking journey for the biggest bone! 🐾 Fenny”

Listen to the story here

Okay, there I was, unsuspectingly caught up in the uproarious hullabaloo of East Bulldog Bay, when I see it – a neon sign flashing “Now Open: Bark ‘n’ Roll”. I’m curious, see. An English bulldog, born and raised on the savory toys of suburbia – a crinkling plastic bottle, a squeaking stuffed animal, and oh, the illustrious tennis ball.

Now, regarding Spencerville, it’s a mixed bag, worse than a vet trip but better than hemp dog chews. It’s a place where dogs achieve what humans can only dream of, reincarnation in a place filled with steak-flavored water and an ‘all-you-can-fetch’ park.

Every day, a spicy concoction of chaos, melody, and four-legged mischief unfolds at the Pupsicle Palace School, where dogs – yes, us! the lot denied the humble pleasure of spiced meatballs, are now, wait for it, making music.

Imagine that! Fenway, the English bulldog who cowers at the sight of a swooning lake, leading an ensemble of free-willing, rule-breaking canine musicians? This is woofing around a fire hydrant on a whole new level.

Now, here’s a secret – I hate ear cleaning. Absolutely detest it. But here’s the thing, the audition’s the same. You’re prodded. You’re cleaned out. You’re put to the test. But the promise of a star-studded banquet at Bark and Bites is an offer that’s too enticing to pass up.

In the hallowed halls of Pupsicle Palace School, the squeaks of my tennis ball became the beats for our new pop sensation – Barkstreet Boys. We were an eclectic bunch – me, Fat Russell slapping the cymbals, good ol’ Spencer strumming the guitar, Barkley rumbling with the drums, and Wrigley, Lil Dot, and the lot singing their hearts out.

Yet, obstacles came like unwanted hiccups. We had canine critics, a concert saved by, of all things, my unseemly fascination for “dollar cookies”, and Barkley who nearly got sidetracked by a scandal involving sports, beer, and a feline femme fatale.

But talent, just like a coveted tennis ball, bounces back. We did too. So here we are, dogs of different quirks, playing the songs of our lives, reveling in our oddities. Sampson and Marley even showed up one day to get an autograph. Imagine!

And yeah, I’m not a walk-in-the-park bulldog. And I ain’t no dog whisperer. But this is who I am – a bulldog, a bassist, and a survivor in the melodious cacophony of Spencerville.

Is it funny how life pans out? You bet. But hey, I wouldn’t trade this re-barking experience for the juiciest bone in the largest pet shop in Spencerville.

The End.