Hey Mom,

Another Spencerville adventure in the books! 🐾 Met the coolest angel named Clarence, guess I’ve been quite the tail-wagging hero to some. 🌟 We’ll run together again someday, promise! Just doing my thing till then. Oh, and I’m off to find the sibs – maybe share a dumpling feast! 🥟

Stay pawsome,
Roscoe 🐶✨

Listen to the story here

I ventured through the crystalline blanket of Spencerville, paws crunching on the freshly fallen snow while the festive lights of The Barkery flickered like stars gone astray in the night. It was Christmas Eve, and my soul felt as heavy as the clumps of snow clinging to my Alabama brown coat.

“You seem troubled, Roscoe,” a voice called out from the darkness.

Whirling around with the grace of a three-legged Boxer, I found myself staring into the eyes of an elderly Golden Retriever, his fur glowing with an ethereal sheen against the night.

“Who are you?” I barked, a hint of suspicion mingling with curiosity.

“I’m Clarence,” he replied, wagging an otherworldly tail, “Your guardian angel. I’ve been sent here to show you just how much you mean to the lives you’ve touched.”

“‘Guardian angel’? I’ve eaten questionable things from the trash that seemed more believable.”

Despite my skepticism, I followed Clarence past the neon sign of Paws-A-Latte, where Sasha and I had once orchestrated a latte-art competition, leaving a mess of steamed milk and frothy laughter in our wake. Ah, the chaos we’d brewed.

At Cream Maltese Meadow, with snowflakes swirling around us, Clarence and I watched ghostly visions of my past. There was little Blue, stumbling on his three good limbs, looking despondent. But, like any good brother, I nudged his spirit into a frenzied game of fetch that left the other dogs in awe of his perseverance.

“That was all you, Roscoe,” Clarence said, his tone warming the frosty air.

“Sasha always said my enthusiasm was contagious.”

“On to the next scene,” Clarence urged.

We trotted to Spotted Red Beagle Beach, where I’d taught countless pups the art of swimming. Their paddles were clumsy, splashes erratic, but the joy was as palpable as the lingering scent of grandma’s cooking.

“See? They would’ve never embraced the water without you.”

“Makes sense. I am quite buoyant,” I quipped, my mood lifting like a bubble to the surface.

It was then that Clarence led me to a vision of my human family, gathered around the tree. I saw tears glisten on their cheeks, heard murmurs of my name, and felt the cavernous void left behind by my absence.

“They miss you beyond measure, but they hold a piece of your spirit close. Your bravery, your love of life,” Clarence said, his voice soft as a whisper amongst the rustling pine needles.

“I never realized I was more than just their dig-happy, frog-toy-loving goof,” I confessed, the weight on my soul lifting like fog at sunrise.

“It’s a Wonderful Bark,” Clarence said with a wink and a nudge.

As dawn threatened the edge of the sky, Clarence’s figure began to fade, his mission complete. I sat there, in the twilight of Christmas morning, my heart swelling with newfound purpose.

“Thank you, Clarence. Thank you for showing me that even an old dog like me can leave pawprints on the world.”

With a newfound pep in my step, I scampered off toward Waggle n’ Wok to swipe a dumpling or two. After all, an epiphany could work up quite the appetite, and I was ready to indulge in the feast of life once more. Because in Spencerville, every day’s a gift, each bark a note in the symphony of existence, and every wag a testament to unshakeable spirit.

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