“Hey Dad! Rusty here. Just back from dashing thru Med England. Ate lots of “Ye Olde Chickn Roast”, ran from citrus (yuck!) and had blast with Whiskers, Chico and gang. P.S – Buried the plushie squirrel somewhere… again! Woof-woof, Rusty Paws 🐾”

The Rusty Chronicles: A Time-Travelling Tail

Ring, ring, ring. The melodic chime of the Spencerville Clock Tower echoed under the constellations. This meant two things – one, it was time for Rusty’s midnight play-date in The South Siberian Summit, and two, the “kite men” on the moon wanted sausages. Don’t ask why. It’s a big universe with all sorts of dietary habits.

I’ve taken you through many an adventure – Rusty time-travelling to ancient Egypt, hiding his tail from kites flown by Pharaoh’s children, Rusty confronting King Arthur’s citrus-laden feasts. But, tonight was about the home team – Rusty, Whiskers, Chico, Daisy and Hank. Me? Oh, just the narrator of this bizarre tale.

As usual, Rusty pranced out, his plushie squirrel swinging in the night air. However, something strange happened. The normal evening hum of golden Spencerville turned into a resounding thunderclap. A radiant light engulfed us – Chico squawked, Whiskers ran zig-zag and Rusty… Well, Rusty did the only smart thing. He buried his squirrel, nose in the air, sniffing in the air of time travel – you get used to it.

“Hang on to your tails!” I yelled, as we were whisked away, our home town receding in a colorful blur.

We landed with a thump on what appeared to be the cobbled streets of Medieval England. The air was thick with aromas, and Rusty, despite the tumultuous journey, wagged his tail in delight. Grilled chicken! Because time is, of course, a merry medley of all sorts of poultry.

Meanwhile, Whiskers spied a market full of fish and Chico… let’s just say, he was already busting some medieval tunes to an appreciative crowd. Rusty and I hoofed to the inn, where a jovial innkeeper served us “Ye Olde Chicken Roast”. Rusty was delighted, and I… well, I was pretty happy watching the pure joy of a dog with his favorite meal.

Venturing back into the open, Rusty’s keen nose detected an off-scent, one that instantly wrinkled his snout. Out there, in the midst of a medieval faire, was a boy offering citrus fruits. Rusty, bless him, couldn’t bear it and was already bounding towards the time portal. Daisy and Hank would never let him hear the end of this.

After a hasty farewell to our medieval hosts, Rusty, Whiskers, Chico and I travelled back to Spencerville just in time for Rusty’s play-date. And sure enough, there they were – Daisy with her mournful eyes wagging and Hank barking incessantly. Rusty barreled into them with a gleeful yelp, all traces of citrus forgotten.

Oh, the timeless pleasure of being together, right there in Spencerville, right under the twinkling clock tower. Time travel sure can work up an appetite… but that’s a tale for ‘Bark and Bites.’

So here is to Rusty, a dog for all seasons – the heart of Spencerville, conqueror of Medieval England, avoiding citruses through the ages. When you time-travel with such companions, it’s always the right time – in any era.

Unusual? Maybe. Heartwarming? Absolutely. That’s just the way things work in our little, timeless corner of the universe.

The End.