“Hey mom, Tanner here! Just living the dream in Spencerville – sniffing out cheese, avoiding the evil water traps and braving the dreaded groomers. I’m the terrier-around-town, loving on your grandpups and tying up loose ends. Love to you from me and Lil! PS: Still a pot roast doppelganger. -Terrier Tanner”

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Well, there I was, Tanner – a four-legged oddball trotting along the buttery streets of Spencerville, bathed in the rose-tinted rays of the setting sun. Smack dab in the center of this world map was me – the loyal terrier, oft-considered a doppelgänger for an undercooked pot roast adorned with wilted veggies, courtesy of my tan patches and black markings.

My uncanny nose knew every nook and cranny of Spencerville, from Western Labradoodle Lake to Southern Golden Retriever River. I could snipe out a chunk of cheese from miles away. A waft of it would send me into an ecstatic whirl, a bit like when Lilly – my Rat Terrier wife, pirouettes on her hind legs. Ah, how my heart beets for that dame, even though she insists on visiting that ghastly establishment, the Dapper Dog Salon.

The joy of living in Spencerville, controlled chaos that it is, was in the details. The anticipation of pancakes from Pawsome Pancakes, the nervous pits in the stomach on the way to the dreaded Beagle Beach; all a part of the grand play.

I had a particular affinity with the oddballs of the world, given I was one myself. There was Fat Russell, this monstrous wreck of a Bulldog, and yet, he was peachy keen to make anyone’s day better. Then there’s Millie, an epitome of elegance, a King Charles Cavalier that could give Audrey Hepburn a run for her money.

The glamorous façade of Spencerville, while appealing, did sometimes grow weary – alluring façades often do. But my star-gazing escapades in the silent backyard offered the tranquility I craved. A respite from the teeming city life, a peaceful detour midst my action-filled chapter.

Oh, and here you’d think life was all rosé and camembert, but boy does life have a knack for coming at you faster than Fat Russell on a treadmill. Amid it all, a trip to the vet or an ear clean was just ghastly. And pools? Terrors that they are, and me? I’m no Michael Phelps. There’s a line and every line becomes boundary when water is involved, I’d say.

But family, dear reader, family is the kibbles to our bits. And thus, despite all the terror of city life, my love for them defined my existence. For Lil, Spencer – my mayor Dad, and the remarkable town we called home. The companionship, you know, it adds a certain panache to life. It was, and always will be, a dose of pure canine affection to fill the human hearts around me. So, there I was in Spencerville, living the dog life, the only life. It was perfection, or near enough.

The End.

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