“Yo! Crazy day in Spencerville. Sun up, fur shining, day started cool. Got myself wrapped up in a spooky tale at Choco Chihuahua Castle. Ghost cans clanging, freaky smells, and even a steak trap with hidden broccoli – first for everything, right? Woke up under the willow, still standing tall! Another day, another adventure. Stinky Ass, signing off!”

Listen to the story here

Let me take you through a peculiar day in my life, here in Spencerville.

The sun rises over the brim of the Yellow Tan Dalmatian Desert, painting the town with hues of warmth, a new day is born. My brindle coat, banded with whispers of age, glistens in the morning sun as I wake. The heart-shaped patch on my head, that old testament of love, beckons the morning.

My duties beckon. I sha’de Huntress, guardian of Choco Chihuahua Castle. A task not without its perils, mind you. One evening, through the halls of the magnificent castle, eerie whispers weaved a tapestry of dread. No soul dared venture past twilight, save for one grumpy-faced, Old English Bulldog.

As the night trickled in, I stole away from the festivities at The Doggy Bagel Deli. Against the flamboyant backdrop of laughter and camaraderie, I slinked my way to the stubborn silent castle. The moonlight slithered through the ancient stone of the castle, breathing life into the darkest corners.

The whispers grew louder; the terror wrapped itself around me tighter. Yet, I was not hindered. I was an eight-foot fence leaper, old Johnson’s pond swimmer, the chaser of elusive tennis balls defeating both time and fear. A quiet strength pulsed through me, reverberating through the silent halls of the castle, invariably intertwined with the palpable terror around me.

Then, the horror reared its head. The clanging sound echoed. Those unmistakable sounds of empty beer cans being battered. The pungent odor wafted, stinging my nostrils. A cacophony of squealing balls and that peculiar metallic taste spread across my tongue. And there it was – an invisible echo of the past, an unseen terror, haunting me, the brave Bulldog.

Until the horror reached its pinnacle, a bowl of delicious, juicy steak lay invitingly. Heaven or trap, I couldn’t tell. Instinct said run, yet the intoxicating smell emboldened me. Gobbling it down, I choked–and gasped–on the despised broccoli cunningly hidden within.
I woke with a start under the comforting branches of the weeping willow, with Lulu patiently sitting beside me.

A supernatural horror didn’t breach my resilience. After all, what’s a day in Spencerville without a tale to tell? I survive, supposed to feel the chill of fear down my spine but instead, I feel that brindle coat of mine shimmer in the bold daylight, cloaked with another tale of courage and wit, here in our very own Spencerville.

The End.