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| Talking Story with Arlo |
By Arlo Agogo
The Greatest School Bus in the History of Dogkind
Aloha, friends. Arlo here, coming to you live from the lanai with a cup of coffee and the kind of story that makes you believe the universe was invented just for dogs.
I’ve watched this one YouTube video so many times my algorithm thinks I’m training to become a golden retriever.
It’s about a woman named Jess who bought a retired short bus, painted it the color of a tennis ball, and turned it into the most exclusive limo service on four legs:
The Bark Bus.
Every Monday and Thursday at the crack of 9:15 a.m. (because dogs don’t believe in 6 a.m. nonsense), the yellow beacon of joy rumbles down the streets of some lucky suburb in Oregon or Washington or Narnia, I’m not sure.
The second the air brakes hiss, windows across the neighborhood start rattling from the sheer force of twenty tails vibrating at supersonic speed.
Let’s meet the passengers.
First stop: Sir Reginald Poodleton III, a standard poodle who insists on being called “Reggie” but wears a little silk neckerchief like he’s late for the Monaco Grand Prix. Reggie refuses to board until Jess performs the sacred ritual of opening the door, pausing dramatically, and announcing, “Your chariot awaits, Your Majesty.” Only then does he ascend the steps like he’s walking the red carpet, one perfectly groomed paw at a time.
Next up is Brenda the Bulldog, who has the face of a disappointed grandmother and the energy of a monster truck.
Brenda does not wait politely at the window. Brenda hurls her 65-pound brick-body against the front door until it sounds like someone is break-dancing with a safe. When the doors finally fold open, she launches herself inside, snorts once like “About damn time,” and immediately claims the entire front bench by drooling on it possessively.
Then there’s Kevin. Kevin is a corgi. Kevin believes he is a greyhound trapped in a loaf-of-bread body. Every single morning he tries to herd the bus. He runs in franticy circles barking orders: “Left flank! Faster, peasants! We have squirrels to oppress!”
The other dogs ignore him completely, which only makes Kevin more determined. He will spend the entire ride standing on the dashboard like a furry hood ornament.
Mabel is a 140-pound Newfoundland who thinks she’s a lap dog. She waits on the porch with the patience of a Buddhist monk, but the moment those doors open her eyes go full anime sparkle and she whisper-gallops aboard, trying very hard not to knock Jess into next week.
Mabel’s life goal is to rest her soggy head on every single passenger at least once per trip. By the time they reach the park, half the bus looks like it’s been through a car wash.
Foxy is a border collie who has appointed herself Vice President of Logistics. She counts heads. Every stop. Out loud. “Seventeen… eighteen… Kevin, sit your stubby butt down so I can see… nineteen… WHERE’S DUKE?” If anyone is late being picked up, Foxy stares out the window like a disappointed project manager until the missing party arrives. Jess swears Foxy can tell time.
Duke is a Great Dane who is 90% legs and 10% anxiety. Duke spends the entire pickup phase hiding behind his human’s legs whispering, “Tell her I’m sick. Tell her I have explosive diarrhea.”
But the second he hears Reggie’s posh voice inside, all betrayal is forgotten and he unfolds himself into the aisle like a transforming robot made of velvet ears.
Princess is a chihuahua the size of a baked potato with the ego of a Roman emperor. She wears a tiny pink harness that says “Emotional Support Human” and barks in declarative sentences. “I am beauty! I am grace! I will pee on your face!”
Nobody has taken her up on the offer yet, but it’s only a matter of time.The Labradors (there are four: Chocolate Steve, Yellow Greg, Black Susan, and the infamous Black-and-Tan Dennis) don’t even bother with the drama of boarding.
They simply materialize.
One second the porch is empty, the next second four wet-nosed torpedoes are airborne, ricocheting off seats like pinballs made of pure joy and slobber. Their only mission in life is locating water and inserting themselves into it at terminal velocity. Depth is irrelevant. Puddle, lake, mud puddle shaped like a lake, doesn’t matter.
Twenty dogs. Twenty completely unhinged personalities.
One very patient woman with a pocket full of treats and the vocal cords of a kindergarten teacher on day one hundred of school.
The drive to the park is what scientists would call “controlled chaos” and what the neighbors call “grounds for noise complaints.” Inside the bus it sounds like a heavy metal concert being performed by kazoos.
Kevin is screaming about schedules. Princess is threatening revolution. The Labradors are singing the song of their people (it’s just one note repeated forever). Reggie is humming “God Save the Queen” under his breath because he’s classy like that. Mabel is gently snoring on three seats and one golden retriever.Jess? Jess is a Zen master.
“Good morning, sweeties! Hello, Brenda, yes I see you, baby. Kevin, honey, the bus is already moving, you can stop herding it. Duke, you’re doing great, big man. Hi Foxy, yes I have your clipboard right here.
They arrive at what can only be described as dog Valhalla: forty acres of fenced paradise some generous landowner lets Jess use.
There’s a pond, a creek, twelve tennis balls that have achieved sentience, and enough mud to film three Lord of the Rings battle scenes. The second Jess pulls the handle, the doors wheeze open and twenty furry missiles achieve escape velocity.
The Labradors hit the pond so hard they create a mushroom cloud. Steve actually skips across the surface like a stone because physics gave up on him years ago. Susan tries to retrieve three tennis balls at once and ends up looking like a deranged Pac-Man. Dennis (Black-and-Tan Dennis) has a personal vendetta against geese and spends twenty minutes barking at a plastic bag stuck in a tree because he’s pretty sure it looked at him funny.
Reggie finds the one patch of clean grass, curls his poodle tail over his nose like a blanket, and judges everyone with the quiet dignity of a duke at a frat party.Princess discovers she can fit under the picnic table and declares it her new kingdom.
Any dog that comes within six feet gets told, in no uncertain terms, that rent is due.Kevin tries to herd the Labradors. The Labradors respond by drowning him affectionately. Repeatedly.
Mabel flops in the shallow creek and becomes a living pier for smaller dogs who want to cross without getting their paws wet. She is the patron saint of wet dog smell.
Two hours later, Jess rings the bell (yes, she has an actual brass dinner bell) and the magic reversal begins. Happy chaos becomes exhausted chaos. The dogs who were supersonic on the outbound trip now move like they’ve aged seventy years in dog time.
Tails that were propellers are now sad little windshield wipers stuck on intermittent.Jess walks the aisle like a flight attendant from the Island of Misfit Toys, handing out freeze-dried liver treats.
Most dogs can barely lift their heads. Dennis tries to take a treat, misses, and just leaves his tongue hanging out in surrender. Kevin is asleep standing up, one paw still raised mid-herd. Princess has to be carried because “royalty does not walk when exhausted.
The ride home is church-quiet except
--for gentle snoring and the occasional wet dream whimper. Jess narrates softly, “Good job today, babies. You were all very brave. Yes, Dennis, even you, you glorious idiot.
”Drop-offs are my favorite part. Each dog stumbles down the steps like a drunk college freshman at 3 a.m., walks three feet, realizes gravity is real, and face-plants on the lawn.
Then, without fail, they roll over, look back at the bus with bleary eyes, and give one single exhausted bark. It’s not a loud bark. It’s the bark equivalent of a fist bump. Translation: “Same time tnext time, coach. Wouldn’t miss it for all the tennis balls in the world.
Jess waits until every last criminal is safely inside their house, gives a little two-finger salute, and rolls on. The bus putters away, leaving behind twenty front windows full of smudges shaped exactly like hopeful noses.
And that, my friends, is the greatest love story never told on the Hallmark channel, twenty dogs, one short bus, and a woman who somehow speaks fluent tail wag.
If that’s not proof that heaven is real and smells faintly of wet fur and liver treats, I don’t know what is.
Lucky Dogs.
Groove is in the Heart - Arlo
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