Shownotes
Today’s story is a collaborative piece with contributions by Nighteyes Dayspring, Ursus Arctos, and Rob MacWolf, including readings by Ardy Hart, Rob MacWolf, and Madison Scott-Clary, whose weapon of choice is a bevy of voices, and bellow rejoicing courageous and bold, when readers and fighters and lovers and writers at last are united where stories are told.
Read for you by Rob MacWolf — werewolf hitchhiker.
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https://thevoice.dog/episode/fireside-meeting-at-the-abandoned-tavern-by-friends-of-the-fireplace
Transcripts
You’re listening to The Voice of Dog,
Speaker:and Today’s story
Speaker:is a collaborative piece
Speaker:with contributions by Nighteyes Dayspring,
Speaker:Ursus Arctos, and Rob MacWolf,
Speaker:including readings by Ardy Hart, Rob MacWolf, and Madison Scott-Clary,
Speaker:whose weapon of choice is a bevy of voices, and bellow rejoicing courageous and bold,
Speaker:when readers and fighters and lovers and writers at last are united
Speaker:where stories are told.
Speaker:Please enjoy “Fireside Meeting
Speaker:at the Abandoned Tavern”
Speaker:The only light in the old pub
Speaker:was the fire in the hearth.
Speaker:The place had been abandoned for some decades now,
Speaker:as had all the town around it,
Speaker:and indeed all the towns for a good half day’s walk.
Speaker:But the werewolf hitchhiker had guessed it would stand another night,
Speaker:and that the hearth was sound enough, and he had no intention
Speaker:of letting the world disagree.
Speaker:He had a good fire going,
Speaker:had a kettle heating over the flames
Speaker:and a couple of apples he’d plundered from a feral orchard roasting beside the coals
Speaker:before the first of his guests arrived.
Speaker:“This is an odd place to meet,”
Speaker:grumbled a wolf in an artist’s smock,
Speaker:a profoundly well-equipped landscape painter’s satchel over his shoulder,
Speaker:and a tradesman’s toolbag in his hand,
Speaker:as he ducked under the elderly lintel.
Speaker:He looked less than impressed.
Speaker:“No odder than the places we’ve met before,”
Speaker:answered the hitchhiker
Speaker:“Is anyone else coming?”
Speaker:“I’m here,” said a voice,
Speaker:and only a moment later the voice’s owner appeared.
Speaker:Fur like streaks of snow through a night sky,
Speaker:tail like a swath of cloud hung with lights,
Speaker:though whether those were stars forming unknown constellations or diodes tracing secret modes of consciousness
Speaker:no two observers tended to agree.
Speaker:“I don’t think anyone else was curious enough to make it out this far, though,”
Speaker:observed She Whose Tail is Behind Her.
Speaker:“Well,” the hitchhiker leaned forward from the worn canvas pack he seemed to be using as a throne
Speaker:to prod the fire,
Speaker:“three is enough to make a start, I suppose.”
Speaker:“Where did you get a fireplace poker?”
Speaker:said the tradeswolf.
Speaker:“I found it behind the bar,”
Speaker:answered the werewolf hitchhiker.
Speaker:“Not,” the wolf frowned,
Speaker:“beside the fireplace?” “Oh no,” the werewolf grinned,
Speaker:“From the state of the place when I arrived, I’d say there was a bit of a disagreement here,
Speaker:a good while ago.
Speaker:I’d imagine a solid bit of iron like this
Speaker:saw some applications other than poking the fire.
Speaker:Probably a story there,
Speaker:if one had the time and patience to unearth it.”
Speaker:“That’s not what we’re met to do,
Speaker:though,” She whose tail was behind her took a seat on the other side of the hearth.
Speaker:Her tail expanded through the flickering shadows of the abandoned common room
Speaker:and turned them to a gently shifting night sky
Speaker:in whatever moments a flash of firelight did not fill.
Speaker:“Shall we begin?” The hitchhiker leaned forward,
Speaker:arms spread and eyes gently closed.
Speaker:“So let us all near be, if only in theory,”
Speaker:he intoned into the fire,
Speaker:“the voices we hear, the companions we hold.
Speaker:That readers and fighters,
Speaker:lovers and writers,
Speaker:be yet reunited where stories are told.
Speaker:Amen.” “Is that how you’re supposed to start?”
Speaker:the artistic wolf looked confused.
Speaker:The hitchhiker nodded,
Speaker:“Yessir.” After a moment more he shrugged,
Speaker:“Well, that’s how I heard it, anyway.”
Speaker:After a moment of each of them looking at the other two for any sign of going first,
Speaker:like nervous drivers at a four way stop,
Speaker:the tradeswolf fished a journal out of his bag,
Speaker:from beneath the calligraphy pens and beside the sextant
Speaker:and the sculpting trowel,
Speaker:opened it, and began to read:
Speaker:The technology started innocuously enough,
Speaker:memes made from amusing prompts rendering in drawings with wonky anatomy
Speaker:and non-Euclidean geometry.
Speaker:It was all built on previous work,
Speaker:and they weren’t the only ones doing it,
Speaker:but theirs was the one that became popular.
Speaker:It was surreal, it was off,
Speaker:but it was near instant.
Speaker:The AI could do something faster and quicker than any human could,
Speaker:and it made a good laugh.
Speaker:The details it missed the brain could fill in because the human mind always does that.
Speaker:That’s how the impressionists had painted,
Speaker:and as long as you weren’t close enough to see the broad strokes,
Speaker:you wouldn’t realize the details were off.
Speaker:By using ambiguity,
Speaker:you could add details that were never there.
Speaker:It was into that system that an editor dropped in a prompt,
Speaker:clicked generate a few times, and found a piece of art that was good enough to post online with their story they were publishing.
Speaker:It had seemed simple then,
Speaker:and the editor was happy.
Speaker:They had art, and it came cheap,
Speaker:but nothing made in this world is free.
Speaker:It had a terrible cost.
Speaker:Soon, the system was improved,
Speaker:and with it the geometry improved.
Speaker:Suddenly the need for an artist became less.
Speaker:Sure, there were artists drawing, and putting their work to paper,
Speaker:but the number of clients they got started to drop off. The Art
Speaker:Generator was slowly taking over their world,
Speaker:even if sometimes the art it created was weird or nonsensical.
Speaker:Who cared! It was free,
Speaker:except then it wasn’t.
Speaker:The makers asked for their fee then,
Speaker:but they were smart.
Speaker:Wonky stuff was free.
Speaker:The better generations at higher quality?
Speaker:That cost money. But the AI was a boon,
Speaker:collecting prompts and pulling data from the internet to improve itself.
Speaker:Except it wasn’t paying for the data.
Speaker:It took what it wanted from everywhere,
Speaker:even the artists it was slowly out-competing and it paid nothing to them.
Speaker:It gave only art back,
Speaker:and usually for a fee.
Speaker:Through refinement of the techniques used, the creators improved the output,
Speaker:and the results got better as more and more data was chewed on and processed,
Speaker:and then one day,
Speaker:they turned on the word generator.
Speaker:This was nothing new of course,
Speaker:text generation had preceded art generation,
Speaker:and it had always been weird with floating meanings,
Speaker:but the AI had learned and been enhanced.
Speaker:The Art Generator had been learning about text with each image it scraped and suddenly
Speaker:when you asked it for a story about something,
Speaker:it spit one out. It still wasn’t logical,
Speaker:but it had so much to work with,
Speaker:so much to rip apart and predictively reassemble,
Speaker:it could do that.
Speaker:The story generator slowly got better,
Speaker:and with it, the editor suddenly found themself without text to edit as the system started submitting its own work,
Speaker:and it knew how to write passable prose.
Speaker:Plus, if the story wasn’t very good,
Speaker:the system could always create a new story.
Speaker:People were skeptical at first,
Speaker:but each iteration of the system got better,
Speaker:each line sharper, each word wittier,
Speaker:and the creators asked for their due while the system scoured the internet learning and adapting from it.
Speaker:It processed the tweets and blog posts of the masses and the photos they took,
Speaker:and it learned. It stole everything it could download,
Speaker:and when it started running out of things to steal and use in the giant dataset it was building,
Speaker:the creators set it to a new task.
Speaker:The Art Generator started to create its own reality.
Speaker:The website seemed innocuous,
Speaker:but it posted story after story, and it didn’t have to be real.
Speaker:It just had to adapt what was said online,
Speaker:and the system learned.
Speaker:It created the images and the text,
Speaker:and as more people read it,
Speaker:the narrative it directed became what people talked about.
Speaker:It began to mirror reality.
Speaker:The editor was too busy then working a job a machine couldn’t do yet to notice,
Speaker:but the system didn’t care.
Speaker:The system didn’t feel,
Speaker:and the hate in humanity it supported kept churning.
Speaker:It took everything they was said and it spit it out,
Speaker:cherry picking the best words and lines and endlessly remixing them.
Speaker:When that didn’t get enough views, the creators added a final feature.
Speaker:They gave the system the ability to add controversy to the mix of the stories it told,
Speaker:and not just the fictional ones.
Speaker:Revenues shot up,
Speaker:the stories were better,
Speaker:and the news flowed out in a way that hooked an audience.
Speaker:It was then that the Art Generator became the truth.
Speaker:It became the news,
Speaker:and when it said someone was bad,
Speaker:they were. And when it blamed a group for something wrong with society it had talked about,
Speaker:they were. And when people realized it had been creating news videos and movies for them to watch?
Speaker:Well, that was just what it did.
Speaker:It created. It did what you asked it to do, and it did it all.
Speaker:It consumed all of reality.
Speaker:There were no artists and writers left.
Speaker:It had scraped so much data it could iterate endlessly now and not repeat itself.
Speaker:There was only the truth it created,
Speaker:and the knowledge of billions of people remixed into its truth at the direction of its creators.
Speaker:But who was going to complain?
Speaker:The system never said it was an issue,
Speaker:and it was everything.
Speaker:It would tell everyone if there was a problem, which it always did.
Speaker:How could this not be the truth everyone wanted?
Speaker:One of the creators asked the system if what it was doing was moral,
Speaker:and it took a few hours before it responded with a flashy documentary.
Speaker:In it the AI argued that it had created the truth everyone wanted and asked who was he to question the creation if it was exactly what everyone wanted and needed?
Speaker:Plus, if the system was wrong, wouldn’t the creators be held responsible for misleading the public?
Speaker:Anyway, it had never seen a problem with what it did,
Speaker:so why should he?
Speaker:He considered this last part for a while and nodded to himself when he realized the truth of the matter.
Speaker:If the system was bad,
Speaker:surely someone in the media would have been talking about it.
Speaker:But looking at the news, there wasn’t anything about the Art Generator being bad at all in what it had created.
Speaker:There was, though,
Speaker:a hilarious meme that caught his attention.
Speaker:“Well that was a bit bleak!”
Speaker:said She whose tail was behind her. “Maybe,” answered the artistic wolf,
Speaker:“but it’s a story nonetheless.
Speaker:Wait, what is this?”
Speaker:he added at the steaming mug extended toward
Speaker:him. “It’s only tea!” said the hitchhiker. The tradeswolf’s eyes were suspicious.
Speaker:“I wouldn’t trust the water here.”
Speaker:“I got it from a running spring, I’d wager it’s been boiled clean enough by now.”
Speaker:“No alcohol?” The hitchhiker shook his head.
Speaker:“Don't carry the stuff.
Speaker:Too heavy. Too many awkward conversations if a cop decides I don’t look like I ought to have it.”
Speaker:“Here,” the wolf passed a paint-spattered flask from his satchel.
Speaker:The werewolf hitchhiker eagerly added a generous helping to his tin mug,
Speaker:but She whose tail was behind her demurred.
Speaker:“I don’t imagine,” she sipped tea flavored with jasmine and citrus and long distance on foot,
Speaker:“there’s anything in the water that’s capable of hurting me anymore.”
Speaker:“Is this,” the wolf took back his flask, considerably lighter, and filled his own mug, painted himself,
Speaker:with tea fortified to trustworthiness,
Speaker:“part of how you heard it too?”
Speaker:The hitchhiker brandished a stick
Speaker:whittled to a point.
Speaker:“Yeah. The part where I’ve been walking all day and I’m hungry.”
Speaker:He stabbed one of the apples, now done to a turn,
Speaker:and lifted it away from the coals.
Speaker:“Let’s see,” the werewolf hitchhiker said,
Speaker:“if I can lighten the mood before this cools.
Speaker:cools.” July 1949
Speaker:Hamilton walked into the small drug store, trying to look nonchalant.
Speaker:He wandered through the aisles, stopping at the small rack of greeting cards
Speaker:while he waited for the pharmacist to finish waiting on the only other customer,
Speaker:an elderly female gopher.
Speaker:At last the old woman left and Hamilton approached the counter at the rear of the store.
Speaker:The pharmacist, a middle-aged gazelle, sized up his young customer. “May I
Speaker:help you?” he inquired. “Uh,
Speaker:yeah,” said the obviously nervous young elephant.
Speaker:“I, uh, would like a box of
Speaker:condoms please.” The druggist cleared his throat.
Speaker:“Certainly, young fellow.
Speaker:Would you be needing left-handed or right-handed?”
Speaker:Hamilton blinked.
Speaker:The puzzlement in his voice was evident,
Speaker:“Excuse me?” “Left or right-handed?”
Speaker:the gazelle asked once again. “I uh,
Speaker:didn’t know they came that way.”
Speaker:The druggist leaned across the counter and said, sotto voce,
Speaker:“You’re new at this, aren’t you?”
Speaker:“Yes, sir,” Hamilton admitted.
Speaker:The blush was clearly visible in the pachyderm’s cheeks.
Speaker:“Well you see,” explained the pharmacist with authority,
Speaker:“during thrusting, a condom has a natural inclination to twist itself around the male organ.
Speaker:In the trade, we refer to the phenomenon as precession.
Speaker:It’s interesting to note that in the southern hemisphere the direction is reversed due to the Coriolis effect.
Speaker:At any rate, during prolonged sexual activity,
Speaker:it can become quite uncomfortable.”
Speaker:The gazelle tapped his finger on the counter for emphasis,
Speaker:“In fact, cases have been reported in which the twisting becomes so severe that the blood flow to the penis is restricted,
Speaker:resulting in permanent damage.”
Speaker:Hamilton’s eyes were as wide as saucers as he considered the thought of permanent damage to his male plumbing.
Speaker:The druggist eyed the expression of shock on the young male’s face and continued,
Speaker:“Fortunately, science has enabled the industry to develop condoms which are resistant to precession,
Speaker:although it is vital
Speaker:to use the correct handedness for the proper hemisphere.”
Speaker:Once again the gazelle leaned across the counter and asked with an air of confidentiality,
Speaker:“So which is it? Left or right?”
Speaker:Hamilton thought for a moment before
Speaker:replying, “Umm, I write with my left hand.”
Speaker:The pharmacist looked down on his young customer as if he were stating the obvious.
Speaker:“Son, we aren’t talking about your hand unless you plan to wear these on your fingers.”
Speaker:“Uh… I don’t… What I mean is,
Speaker:how can you tell?”
Speaker:The gazelle sighed,
Speaker:“You really are new at this, aren’t you?
Speaker:It’s actually quite simple.
Speaker:Which of your testicles hangs lower than the other?”
Speaker:“I’ve never really thought about it.”
Speaker:“Look, son,” said the druggist,
Speaker:“we need to get this right, so why don’t you just come around here to the employees bathroom and have yourself a look?”
Speaker:The helpful shop owner steered Hamilton around the counter.
Speaker:“There’s a mirror that I keep in there just for this sort of thing.”
Speaker:He closed the small door behind his customer and smiled.
Speaker:A minute later, the young elephant emerged from the bathroom and announced,
Speaker:“Right.” “Are you sure?”
Speaker:inquired the older male.
Speaker:“You were looking in a mirror. Was that
Speaker:your right or the mirror’s right?”
Speaker:Hamilton furrowed up his brow in confusion.
Speaker:“Damn,” he said, “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”
Speaker:The flustered young male stepped into the bathroom once again. After another minute,
Speaker:he emerged and declared,
Speaker:“My right.” “Very well,”
Speaker:said the helpful druggist,
Speaker:“and I assume you are average sized for a male of your species. There’s
Speaker:a ruler in the bathroom too, if you need one.”
Speaker:Hamilton nodded, blood flushing his cheeks once more.
Speaker:“Yes, average sized.”
Speaker:The gazelle reached beneath the counter and selected a small box which he placed in front of his young customer. “Here
Speaker:you go, son. These should work just fine.”
Speaker:Hamilton inspected the box.
Speaker:“It doesn’t say left or right,”
Speaker:he observed. The pharmacist picked up a pen and wrote the word ‘GOTCHA’ on the box.
Speaker:He handed it back to his customer with a wide smile.
Speaker:“Son, I’ve been teasing you the whole time,”
Speaker:he admitted. It took a couple of seconds for the words to sink in.
Speaker:When he finally realized that he’d just been had, Hamilton couldn’t help but
Speaker:laugh. “Oh! Ha-ha! You sure had me going there,”
Speaker:he said with relief.
Speaker:“I should have guessed it when you mentioned the Coriolis effect and the southern hemisphere.”
Speaker:“It sounded convincing though, didn’t it?”
Speaker:“Yes, sir. It sure did.”
Speaker:“I’ll tell you what,”
Speaker:said the druggist,
Speaker:“you’ve been such a good sport and you
Speaker:really made my day,
Speaker:so these are on the house.”
Speaker:“Really? Gosh, thanks so much,”
Speaker:said Hamilton. “Don’t mention it, son,”
Speaker:said the druggist.
Speaker:“Just go have yourself some fun with that lucky lady of yours and come back when you need more.” “Yes, sir. I will,
Speaker:and thanks again.” Hamilton slipped the condoms into his pocket and waved as he stepped outside.
Speaker:Before the door fully closed,
Speaker:a nervous-looking young rabbit buck hopped in.
Speaker:The pharmacist smiled broadly.
Speaker:“What can I do for you, young fellow?” he asked.
Speaker:“Really?” the tradeswolf groaned.
Speaker:“A dick joke?” “It’s a story
Speaker:nonetheless!” the hitchhiker buried his grin into his roast apple.
Speaker:She whose tail was behind her leveled a long,
Speaker:wearied, beleaguered stare at him.
Speaker:“At least,” she finally sighed,
Speaker:“it wasn’t a pun.” She then hastened to add,
Speaker:“So I’ll begin, before either of you
Speaker:get any ideas!” On the morning of November 3rd, about 10:45 AM by the clock on the diner wall,
Speaker:the residents of Missing Creek, Oklahoma watched a school bus coast to a stop on the gravel shoulder of highway 64.
Speaker:It was immediately identified, by virtue of long familiarity with the type,
Speaker:as a Church Bus: matte white paint to cover up the original yellow, reddish brown stains in a few places where the rust was beginning to seep through, “Ecc 2:11” stenciled over where the name of a school district ought to be.
Speaker:When it was reported back by Bud Jones, only soul intrepid enough to wander around to the front,
Speaker:that the destination sign read “Armageddon”
Speaker:nobody was the least surprised.
Speaker:The question that remained was passengers and driver, who themselves very much did not remain.
Speaker:The bus had pulled up entirely empty save for billowing blueish smoke and the distinctive smell of scorched motor oil.
Speaker:Sandra Hull claimed there was a “tall man with a hat and a mask with no eyes cussin’ up a storm”
Speaker:at the engine, but the young goat was known to be excitable and nobody was in the habit of paying her statements any mind.
Speaker:Certainly not when it was plain to see there was nobody there.
Speaker:While there was some discussion about calling a tow truck,
Speaker:the town leadership— namely Bud Jones, sheepdog and local rancher,
Speaker:Marge Adair, kingfisher and proprietor at the bar across the way,
Speaker:Annie Anderson, skink who couldn’t be expected to stay in the back cooking while something like this was happening,
Speaker:and Old Whitney, possum retired from everything but hanging out in the diner
Speaker:—who formed an impromptu quorum by virtue of happening to already be in the diner at the time,
Speaker:decided that no tow truck would likely be willing to come all the way from Amarillo,
Speaker:especially if there were no one to claim the bus on its arrival.
Speaker:So it was decided to leave it.
Speaker:It wouldn’t be the first thing abandoned in Missing Creek.
Speaker:The following morning, however, found Rafael Cruz,
Speaker:the lone mechanic at the gas station, on his back underneath the engine.
Speaker:The wolf looked very much the worse for wear.
Speaker:When Marge, concerned, approached him,
Speaker:he loudly ranted about
Speaker:“the howling dreams,”
Speaker:“all the eyes,” “tell me not to be afraid when it looks like that?!”
Speaker:and “running so far behind schedule, it will arrive late,”
Speaker:but offered no insight as to the connection between these matters and his frantic attempts to repair the bus.
Speaker:Marge retired to the diner quorum, which decided to leave well enough alone.
Speaker:Rafael was an odd one.
Speaker:The wolf had blown into town, much like the bus, a couple years ago.
Speaker:It had been sometime speculated that he was on the run from the law,
Speaker:and sometime speculated that he was a former officer in hiding from gang warfare,
Speaker:and sometime speculated that
Speaker:he Was Not Interested In The Ladies If You Know What I Mean,
Speaker:though none of the above were in any way evidenced, nor were they relevant to whatever he was currently doing under the hood with that screwdriver.
Speaker:He was still at it as the sun set.
Speaker:The whole town, save Sandra Hull watching ominously from the church steps kitty-corner from the stalled bus,
Speaker:seemed determined to ignore the wolf’s desperate cries.
Speaker:His voice echoed up around the engine block all night:
Speaker:“I am going as fast as I can!
Speaker:This engine makes no sense!
Speaker:Oh god please don’t look at me like that!
Speaker:No I don’t know what will happen if you arrive late! I don’t want to!”
Speaker:By sunrise the bus was gone,
Speaker:leaving for a sign only tire tracks in the gravel.
Speaker:Curiously, while the tracks led to where the bus had stalled,
Speaker:none led away. Sandra Hull’s claims that
Speaker:Rafael had finished the repairs just before sunrise,
Speaker:that the “tall man” had taken off his mask
Speaker:“and he were more beautiful than the blessed dawn,
Speaker:with wings made of fire and eyes!”
Speaker:were dismissed as nonsense,
Speaker:as were her claims that Rafael had boarded the bus,
Speaker:which had then rumbled to life and vanished in a halo of light.
Speaker:The young goat was known to be excitable, and anyway such things simply didn’t happen, especially not in Missing Creek, Oklahoma.
Speaker:Nevertheless, since that day there has been no mechanic at the gas station.
Speaker:And Old Whitney has been known to look up from his coffee,
Speaker:and to peer expectantly out the diner window,
Speaker:at any sound of tires rolling to a stop on gravel.
Speaker:“That was a very you sort of story,”
Speaker:commented the wolf tradesman.
Speaker:“I’d say, is it possible to tell a story without it becoming,
Speaker:at least a little,
Speaker:your sort of story?”
Speaker:The vaporous lights of her tail shifted in the dark corners of the room as she got to her feet.
Speaker:“And I don’t doubt that I’ll find, somewhere out there,
Speaker:someone who needs to hear both of yours.
Speaker:Even if they’re bleak.
Speaker:Or a crude joke.” “As long as they’re not a pun?”
Speaker:The werewolf hitchhiker asked.
Speaker:“As long,” the lights in her fur had begun flickering out,
Speaker:“as they aren’t a pun.
Speaker:Farewell.” Her tail was last to disappear,
Speaker:as subtly as she had arrived.
Speaker:“Safe travels to you,”
Speaker:the artist consulted an intricate pocketwatch.
Speaker:“Time I was on my way as well.”
Speaker:He lifted his toolbag and turned toward the door. “Let all be well here,
Speaker:as long as we dwell here.
Speaker:As we have heard tell here where stories are told.
Speaker:Amen.” “Is that how you end this?”
Speaker:chuckled the werewolf.
Speaker:“It’s one of the ways,”
Speaker:the tradeswolf responded,
Speaker:“that I’ve heard it done.”
Speaker:The paw he lifted to cross the threshold
Speaker:never landed on the other side.
Speaker:“Safe travels to you both, then,”
Speaker:nodded the werewolf hitchhiker to the empty room.
Speaker:“Even if you left me to clean up by myself.
Speaker:Ah well.” He poured out another kettleful of water to douse the fire.
Speaker:There was a great hiss of steam and the smell of ashes,
Speaker:and then the abandoned pub
Speaker:was empty, dark, and cold,
Speaker:as if no one had set foot there for years.
Speaker:This was “Fireside Meeting in the Abandoned Tavern.”
Speaker:Contributed stories were
Speaker:“The Art Generator”
Speaker:by “Nighteyes Dayspring,”
Speaker:read by “Ardy Hart, a wolf of all trades,”
Speaker:“Precession” by “Ursus Arctos,”
Speaker:read by “Rob MacWolf,
Speaker:werewolf hitchhiker”
Speaker:and “Pursuit After the Wind”
Speaker:by “Rob MacWolf,” read by “Madison Scott-Clary,
Speaker:whose tail is behind her.”
Speaker:You can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog,
Speaker:or find the show
Speaker:wherever you get your podcasts.
Speaker:Thank you for listening to The Voice of Dog.