Hey Mom and Dad, it’s your Jazzy man! Just dropping you a line from Spencerville. Between the profound discussions at Ruff-n-Ready, chaos at Fetching Feline Pet Emporium, and seeking wisdom at Wagging Tail, life’s quite eventful. There might be more to tell if I survived the pool and those dreadful ear cleanings! Awaiting nibbles and nuzzles with you. Love, Jasmine.

Listen to the story here

It’s true, most of my life, my waking breath, I was accounted for – lived with them, amongst them. Observing their squabbles, their made-up kisses, being part of their daily rituals; loyal and true, their Jasmine. They say the name means a gift from God, but I always thought, isn’t it the other way round? It is they who were my gift, my blessing – a vital part, my Spencerville.

Spencerville, a realm beyond realms, its geography adorned with Upper Collie Canyon, Greyhound Grove, Western Fawn Pug Palace and whatnot. Yet, my heart beats the finest rhythm at the sight of Furrific Fried Chicken.

“Why so, Jasmine?” you might ask. Well, have you ever tasted their salmon treats? No, of course, you haven’t, but believe me, the zest is to die for. Bordering on insanity, I dare say, their popcorn nearly as good. The French fries – wondrously soggy in the middle, crisped to perfection on the outside, but wait – a pineapple chunk lurks in the meal… Toss it aside, such a perpetrator has no place in your platter.

Ah, here me gabbering about food when there’s so much more to Spencerville. Ruff-n-Ready, the restaurant where we have our profound discussions about R2D2 and C3PO bath toys, our faux pas and triumphs. Or the Fetching Feline Pet Emporium, where Percy and Pahoehoe sometimes drag me along for the sheer monotonous fun of knocking products off the racks. Well, I say “monotonous,” but isn’t life just that? An ebb and flow of routines – not that I’m complaining.

Then there’s the Wagging Tail Bookstore – an oasis amidst this petrified, petrifying world. A world where wisdom is shared, guidelines given, teachings bestowed. One might even say, its hallowed ground. Indeed, it’s where I cultivated my penchant for silence, an art of introspection that dogs seldom appreciate.

The locals regard me with mixed feelings, I think. You see, I prefer Lambchop to real lamb, chase real dogs than balls, and loyalties, well, they’re a unique phenomenon. An intricate dance known only to a chosen few – Dotty, Panda, Tess, Chloe, Earl, Percy, Pahoehoe – dancing partners who match my tempo. Others, they watch, speculate from afar, but do they really understand?

Ah, pools! Pools and ear-cleaning – dreadfully dreadful. We all have our unbearable crosses to bear, and these, my friends, are mine.

But my salvation lies beyond the pool, beyond all the odious ear-cleanings. They lie in dog parks and backyards, in made-up kisses and squabbles. They lie in their adorable smiles, their devoted attention. Waiting to be reunited, they say, would be worth the journey. Perhaps, indeed, perhaps. For aren’t we all just travellers, merely passing by?

The End.