Hey Fam,

It’s Nickie, reporting love and mischief from ever-charming Spencerville! Filled my day chasing squeaky toys, dodging dreadful lemons at the dog café, and hanging with my best bud Bruno. Life here is a ceaseless sunrise-to-sunset saga, while I await the day a familiar touch brings me back to you. Until then, it’s tail-wagging good times!

Paws and love,
Nickie 🐾

Listen to the story here

It was a curiosity of a day, akin to every other in the serenely peculiar town we’ve all come to affectionately know as Spencerville. Less a morose cemetery for the departed, and more a carnival for the temporarily misplaced, the place had its own frolicsome charm. A spot where sizes shrink, the energies soar, and lemons, for some reason known only to the architect of the cosmos, are as welcome as fleas to a furred critter.

My name’s Nickie, if it weren’t conveyed before. And before you bat an eye, no, ain’t no bloke this side of Labradoodle Lake with that moniker. ‘Tis I, the Yorkshire miss with a coat sparkling like a starry night dancing on a mountain stream. Now, of course, it wasn’t always this comfy engulfed in eternal play. Before Spencerville and its enchantments, there was time. Time that trotted along and escorted me here, a place where it bent its knee and surrendered.

Today was another chapter in this unending saga of mischief, frolicking, and aversions to the blasted lemon. My mornings were usually spent chasing down the elusive squeaky chew toy – a rogue saunterer if ever there was one. My feet would twine around the wind as I’d scurry past White Westie Woods and the Tan Dalmatian Desert, my toy always a leap ahead, and my laugh ringing between the trees.

When hunger bit, I’d dash onto K9 Kebabs or the Bark and Bites, anything but the Chow Hound Café. The fine cooks there had a peculiar fondness for the dreaded citrus. What foul jest of fate made me land in a place blessed with eternal joy, but cursed with lemons!?

And before you wonder about my companions, allow me to share a morsel about my friend, Bruno. An imposing creature, that one, but with a heart as soft as his ears. We’d saunter down to Happy Hounds Dog Walking, perhaps for a trim at The Dapper Dog Salon. Or luze round the park till the last threads of light stitched the horizon.

Life – or should I say its echo here in Spencerville – is no impoverished existence. I live the ebullience of a ceaseless sunrise meets sunset kind of day, where no dread of parting looms. One day, a familiar scent, a long-awaited touch, would drift over Spencerville, and off I’d sprint, past the lake, the woods, and the desert, straight into the arms of my family. Until then, Spencerville nurtures me, and mine is a tale of endless mirth and insatiable aversion to lemons.

So, as the tales unfurl and wind around the town, I find my tale tangled amongst them, as much a part of Spencerville as it is a part of me. And here we are, each one of us, bound by a common yarn – a life well-lived and a town well-loved.

The End.