Barkingburgh was located along the shore. It was the home to eight dog baseball clubs, each with their own clubhouse and land. Dog family farms of various types surrounded the town’s center and continued past the rivers on up to the cliffs.
The smells varied as one travelled from the shore inland, but there was one that was the most frequent. Each clubhouse baked pizza. The surrounding air and our nostrils were the beneficiaries.
Barkingburgh always was, no one knew how we’d gotten there. The historical hieroglyphs had no record of our arrival. The Barkingburgh family played a fairly consistent role in our leadership, and though they claimed to have significant knowledge of most everything else, not even they would pretend to know of our beginnings.