Hey Pops, Rocco here. Been busy adventuring around Spencerville, digging in Husky Hill, snackin’ on Doggy Donuts, wrestling leaves and all. Oh, fun times post-bath and car rides, ya know? Rain and vacuums are still a bit scary, but no worries, I’ve tackled them head-on. Miss you and Spencerville’s cozy fires. Send treats soon! 😄 – Rocdog

Listen to the story here

Ah, was there ever a hound such as Rocco! That plucky Frenchie of ours, bearin’ a coat of red-fawn like a royal mantle. His features, black as a moonless night, sparkled with unquenchable curiosity. There, in Spencerville, where even every strand of his coarse fur had embarked on adventures, Rocco carved himself a niche.

Now make no mistake, ain’t no one who crossed paths with our loyal rascal under Husky Hill or neath the gentle palms of East Bulldog Bay, could forget the sight of him. A picture of stubborn courage witnessing the whims and wiles of our dear town from beneath expressive, daring eyes.

Maybe Rocco was not a sophisticate –
entranced by a squeaky toy gone rogue or damning green morsels cast from above – but his tastes were sincere. Akin to his amiable fondness for Doggy Donuts or the hearty meals served up at Bark Burgers, though he held a particular disdain for the leaves.

Rememberin’ those special sessions of scrubbin’ and groomin’. Showerin’ was a task, a monumental battlefield of splashes and soap, but the aftermath, by golly, it was worth this pageant of battle! He savored it, that luxurious post-bath massage, like the sun’s glow on his coat, like the final act of a grand playout.

Ye must not forget his footloose spirit, the joy sparkling in his eyes, inflamed with the promise of a car ride. Pair that with a day spent chasing balls, matching wits with the best game-finders ’round the Tan Dalmatian Desert, and a contented sigh, deep as an old well, was all that was left of our spirited Rocco.

And if the rain came a’calling or the dreaded vacuum decided to make its appearance, Rocco became a low spirit. But desert him within the confines of Spencerville? Nay! That was an idea he’d scoff at. For Spencerville, with its homely fires and familiar faces, were as crucial to Rocco as the steady thump of a healthy heart.

Now, being alone. That was the rub. But plucky as he was, Rocco had his own coping mechanisms. Be it lounging at the Spa for Paws, or flexing his furry muscles at The Pawfect Training Center, or just romancing the winds atop the mountains or frolicking by his dear beach. These were his tools for survival, like life-lines etched on a weary palm.

Yes sir, Rocco understood the toil of being a good dog and a loyal friend, both of which he was, without ever forgetting the euphoria of chasing ‘Possum’ or barking a hearty order at The Dapper Dog Salon.

For life, my friends, is a narrative – joyous, tragic, unfathomable, but above all distinctive. Ain’t it just so that our tale teller, our doyen of the dog’s life in Spencerville was none other than our four-legged hero, Rocco!

The End.

Share This Story: