“Hey gramma, guess what? I won the Bark Bowl in Spencerville! The beach was booming, peanut butter cheesesteaks delicious, and so many bouncy balls to find. No vacuums or water anywhere – just bliss. Heaven? Probably. Yours, Fat Russell.”

Listen to the story here.

Russell, that plump bulldog of ours, had the audacity to map out his very own afterlife — and bar water and vacuum cleaners from it.

Ah, Spencerville, his eternal haven. One would think that it would be just like every other day, but it really wasn’t. Today, Russell was going to compete in the annual Spencerville Bark Bowl on Boxer Beach and he’d been practicing for weeks.

Boxer Beach was usually known for its relaxing waves and soft golden sand that got in between your paw-pads. Today it was alive with cheer, peppered with various tents and stalls – Woof and Whisker Wellness Center offering complimentary massages to competitors, wagging tails waiting in line at the Pupsicle Palace.

The Bark Bowl, you see, was no ordinary sports event. It was a tennis-ball retrieve with a twist. The competitors had to fetch the most balls within two minutes. Then came the twist – the balls, were buried in the sand! Might seem easy but not for these trophy-eyed canines, you should see their wide-eyed enthusiasm.

Russell, himself a renowned aficionado of the ball-chasing sport, was gearing up. His round, rubbery body bounced excitedly as he warmed up, the neighboring crowd wooing at him ─ for Russell wasn’t just another pet. He was a charming community fixture ─ a chunky underdog who was destined to steal the show.

Oh, the roar of the crowd! As we neared the starting time, my heart pounded in my furry chest. He gulped down his last bits of peanut butter-slathered Philly cheesesteaks, perhaps his lucky ritual before the big game. I, his ever-supportive friend, gulped along in silent camaraderie.

The whistle blew, and off he was, my robust comrade, zigzagging across the courts of Spencerville’s Boxer Beach, eliciting paws-clapping and endless woo-hooing from the crowd. The sand flew as he dug with gusto, his sniffer on full duty, tongues and tails held tight in anticipation.

With each triumphant find, the tension palpable in the salty sea air eased and the applause swelled. Russell, the county-born English bulldog we’d all grown to love, was dominating the Bark Bowl, one ball at a time.

Sure, there would be challenges. Spencerville was far from perfect with its surreal pet based economy and ship-shaped houses. But it offered the one thing Russell truly craved: an escape from the mortal, Sunday-afternoon humdrum, into a world that revolved around pets.

By the end of day, despite the exhaustive exertion and the sand, Russell was beaming. And as I, his cherished buddy, cheered for him, I couldn’t help but ponder: maybe heaven does exist, and for my best pal Russell, it was right here – in the sandy melee of Boxer Beach, under the sunny town of Spencerville. Tennis balls, sunshine, and infinite bliss, minus the dread of deep waters and noise – if that’s not paradise for one county-born bulldog, I wonder what is.

No vacuum cleaner roared in the nightfall that day. No dreaded waters dared wash up the shores. Just a furry, plucky bulldog walking down the arena, with the echoes of reverberating cheers, the glittering Bark Bowl trophy, and infinite possibilities waiting in Spencerville.

The End.