Hey Mom, lead a wild adventure in Spencerville, rallied the local dog squad against the Chow Chow to win us some Pupperoni Pizza. Tactical genius: used me as a bridge over the Golden Retriever River. Ended the day slobbing on old purp and cherry on top, our side won! Sorry I still hate baths, love ya. – Sugar-face 🐾🍕🏆

Listen to the story here.

Kirby, the star of Spencerville, prime protector of the purple dinosaur and terror of the trivial squirrel, was embroiled in the very pith of the hour’s complexity.

The stench of power, as intoxicating as the promised crunch of goldfish crackers, hovered on the edge of Spencerville, a realm where the lost pets resided; their loyalties pledged to their two-legged companions, their hearts brimming with the hope of a reunion. Sheathed in his distinctive white, wrinkly fur, Kirby stood, ownerless, but his gaze hardened with that persisting bulldog tenacity.

“Game of Crust!” he barked around the Council of Cuddles, the chihuahua, the collie, the lab, and other breeds that flocked the heart of Shih Tzu Stadium. “To fetch the victor’s reward of Pupperoni Pizza, we declare our might!”

Ah, delightful Pupperoni, it stirred the same tantalizing sensation in the ensemble as did a treasure trove of goldfish crackers ignite in Kirby. An uncomfortable, nigh unbearable itch ached within the pit of my gut. My jaw clenched as I watched Kirby, the slur of his past nipping at the burly confines of his determined hulk.

Contrary to the Shih Tzu Stadium’s ambiance, a ferocious river pulsed through our Spencerville, named aptly, the Southern Golden Retriever River, equally treacherous as it was magnificent. There stood our challenge; our petite chihuahua quaking at the sight of the glistening water.

“Use my back as your stepping-stone, and leap for Spencerville!” The bulldog bellowed, bracing himself against the daring wave, a string of defiance binding him to his brethren.

So, we ascended right there, Kirby, the gruff but tenderhearted leader constructing the bridge of his back, gritting his grits against the current, all the while the weeny chihuahua perched at the peak of his curly hairdo, scouting the approaching rival bands.

Pup-Tizers was a war cry away. The legendary Chow Down Chow Chow was withholding. This was our battleground. Right here in Spencerville, the rhythmic panting of excited hounds echoed off the walls of The Wagging Tail Bookstore, as we braced for a clash born of stubborn loyalty, primal hunger and the desire to unite with our distant owners.

As evening shrouded Spencerville, the collie’s howl declared victory. Entwining tales of The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium with the aroma of victory pizza awaited us yonder the canine river. Bathed in the glow of triumph, we huddled close, Kirby in the center, his chest pulsating with a bravery that held us all together as he proudly slobbered onto his purple dinosaur toy.

A holler of cheer, a triumphant opposed to his dread nemesis—baths, echoed through the night. Be it the Siberian Summit or The Groom Room glittering beneath a moonlit sky, we knew those stars were but a constellation of hope. For they stood just beyond our Earthly grasp, just as our owners did.

This was Kirby, the goldfish-cracker-crushing, water-hating bulldog, a beacon of bravery that, even as he would one day depart from Spencerville, symbolized a love for life to all dog-kind. If courage was a breed, then it would be named Kirby. He was Spencerville’s tale of spirited glory.

The End.