“Hey Mom, it’s Diva! Just saved the day in Spencerville by staring down a vacuum beast. Ate a few tacos for courage. The tale of my bravery’s now a local legend, narrated in every husky howl. P.S. Still not a fan of baths or bananas. Woof!”

Listen to the story here.

In the vivid belly of Spencerville, rein was Lil Dot, a pup no bigger than a dot, though, her spirit was gargantuan. Charismatic and perpetually draped in enthusiasm, she was – how do I put this – a robust cocktail of courageousness and intellect, garnished with a splash of stubbornness. There I was, clambering down the winding path, that quaint little town nestled between Husky Hill and Upper Black Bulldog Bay, when I first laid eyes on her.

Pint-sized but anarchy packed, Lil Dot held the Red Beagle Beach with a spirited energy one had to see to believe. At Pup ‘n’ Go Taco Joint, her favorite haunt, she ruled supreme, noshing on the tantalizing chicken delicacies. Her face would light up, her eyes sparkling like the glinting sun on the waterbay, as she got her paws on her favored food.

Her abode, whether it was under the sun, amidst the bustling city or the countryside, was full of life and excitement. Not for her were the vacant expanses of the desert or the neighborhood dog park’s humdrum. And dear God, if you think of giving her a bath or leaving her alone – I pity you. It’s a battle you were destined to lose, my friend. As peculiar as it may sound, she turned her cute little snout away from bananas, bread, cookies, and her own kin. But Spencer? Well, Spencer was another story. Her heart undeniable tied to him, tethered if you would, and the likes of Fenway, Pearl, and Zelda.

Now imagine this quaint hamlet plagued by some supernatural force. Shadows stretching long and eerie, the terror running deep like the dark waters of Upper Black Bulldog Bay, eyes flickering with an undecipherable mix of fear and defiance. Homes once humming with the sound of furry paws scampering were echoing emptiness, as the intoxicatingly terrifying aroma of Spencerville’s incredibly quaint life started shifting.

The betrayal, the horror that instigated the unrest, was not a thing of alien realms. It was a vacuum, of all the ghastly, horrifyingly regular things. It began as a troubling gurgle in the background of daily life and became the haunting specter that gnawed at our safety, our peace, our Spencerville. It sucked the joy, the zest, and the bravado out of every pet that ever set paw in this dreamlike hamlet – well, almost every pet.

I remember her, standing there, in front of the roaring beast of a vacuum, not a bit shaken, her small frame radiating defiance. Friends, family, everyone was watching her, their hopes pinned on the spirited English bulldog. She showed them, showed us all, their despair was mistaken with that brave, intelligent, white furball fearlessly confronting the terror. With a heart as doggedly stubborn as any legendary hero’s, Lil Dot showed not just Spencerville, but possibly anyone who diverged on the fascinating tale of her bravery, the true essence of ardor and spirit wrapped in a pint-sized powerhouse.

Yes, my friend, in the vibrant heart of Spencerville, an unlikely hero was born that day, a squishy, chicken-lover of a hero named Lil Dot. It was her story, her courage that kept us going, because, after all, the best of stories never die, do they? They are echoed through ears, beaten hearts, whispered to the stars, and in every husky howl on Husky Hill, one can still hear – Lil Dot.

The End.